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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28933149">Foxholes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryproblems/pseuds/strawberryproblems'>strawberryproblems</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Holes (2003) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Prison, Character(s) of Color, Curses, Gen, Jewish Character, Jewish Culture, Jewish Identity, Magical Realism, Mentions of Myth &amp; Folklore, Mentions of canon typical violence, Mexican Folklore - Freeform, Polish folklore, juvie au, young foxes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:13:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>41,701</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28933149</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryproblems/pseuds/strawberryproblems</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathaniel watches the boys pop out of the pits they dug, wondering if their foxholes provide shelter from the burning sun. Nathaniel felt the heat of the dirt through his shoe soles like asphalt. He knew he didn’t have eighteen months here, or anywhere, and Romero knew it too. Shooting fish in a barrel. Nathaniel curled his toes to redirect the restlessness pooling in his feet and looked out to the horizon.</p><p>A.K.A. AFTG “Holes” AU<br/>(no knowledge on the book or movie "Holes" needed)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten &amp; Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten &amp; His Ancestors, Neil Josten &amp; Neil Josten, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. dead-name doe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic’s beta’s are <a href="https://sirfatcat-mccatterson.tumblr.com/">@sirfatcat-mccatterson</a> and <a href="https://wishbonetea.tumblr.com/">@wishbonetea</a> on Tumblr. Special thanks to Lizzy (wishbonetea) who has an AO3 <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishbonetea/pseuds/wishbonetea/">@wishbonetea</a> so check out their fic's as well.<br/>My AFTG side-blog is <a href="https://i-did.tumblr.com/">@i-did</a>, feel free to DM me or ask to tag for additional CW.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Camp Green Lake is a miserable place. It’s supposed to be.</p><p>Not many kids who come here are given much of a choice. Camp Green Lake is a place for boys deemed too bad to be given the chance to try to escape back into society again. The philosophy behind the existence of Camp Green Lake is, “if you take a bad boy, and make him dig a hole all day in the hot sun, you will turn him into a good boy.”</p><p>Or that's what some people think anyway.<br/>So that's where the judge had sent Andrew Joseph–recently–Minyard, but even that judge didn’t think Andrew was capable of turning into a good boy. Andrew was used to it. And besides, he was glad to be at Camp Green Lake. Or at least as close to 'glad' as he was capable of. The second closest to 'glad' he'd ever been in his fourteen years of life. He was satisfied perhaps. Andrew was a ward of the state. He had never been to camp before.</p><p>He knows this hot match of a place isn’t what he was imagining, but he wasn’t imagining much anyways. He just needed to be here, he made a promise. The timing wasn’t easy, spots fill up fast in Camp Green Lake, but if Andrew was anything, he was calculated. So when the judge said, “there’s a spot open at Camp Green Lake,” he took it with a malicious smile.</p><p>Now, looking at the horizon, he can see a dust cloud slowly growing. A white bus approaches with <span class="small">DEPARTMENT OF JUVENILE JUSTICE</span> written over a blue stripe on the side.</p><p>Ah... a new camper. Andrew has been here for a while now, and he’s bored of the same faces, he wonders if the new kid is going to be interesting enough for him.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. the weeping woman with no tears to cry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is no lake at Camp Green Lake. There once was a deep lake here, but that was over a hundred years ago. There used to be a town here, too, but it died as fast as the lake did, leaving the land a hollow shell of what it once was.</p>
<p>Carmelita has a hard time picturing the town alive. It comes only in flashes, and like a migraine it blotches her sight, the past and present alive at once, and then it's gone and she's back looking only at the wasteland.</p>
<p>And it’s no exaggeration to call Camp Green Lake a ‘wasteland.’ With summer temperatures reaching the high nineties in the shade–if there is any. There's not much shade to find at the bottom of a dried-out lake.</p>
<p>There are only two trees here. Two planted oak trees, misplaced, like they're too good to be true. Like a mirage, a woven hammock sits between those two shady trees.</p>
<p>Sometimes a whisper of a breeze will wind its way across the desert, a ghost of wind that's too light to feel but enough to sway the hammock, making it look all the more tempting to lie in.</p>
<p>But the campers of Camp Green Lake are forbidden to lie in the hammock. It belongs to the Warden. The Warden owns the shade.</p>
<p>Out on the hot lake, rattlesnakes and scorpions sometimes find shade under small rocks, but mostly, they find their way inside the holes dug by the campers.</p>
<p>A lesson she remembers learning was that the best rule for rattlesnakes and scorpions was that mutual distance was the best way to prevent collateral damage.</p>
<p>The real threat was people. Animals were more direct and easier to predict. Being bitten by a scorpion or even a rattlesnake is not the worst thing that can happen to a person. After all, physical pain is only skin deep.</p>
<p>Every so often a camper will try to get stung by a scorpion, or bitten by a small rattlesnake. Then he will get to spend a day or two recovering in his tent, or if sick enough, the hospital, instead of having to dig a hole out on the lake in the lifeless heat of Green Lake: The same heat that had driven people away over the years, until all that remained were those who weren’t allowed to leave and those whose job it was to watch them. Camp Green Lake was remote. Anyone bitten just has to grin and bear it.</p>
<p>It was still better than digging.</p>
<p>But no one wants to get bitten by the yellow-spotted lizards. It's one of the worst things that can happen to a person. They say it's the slowest, most painful death. And inevitable. No one survives a bite from the yellow-spotted lizard. If a yellow-spotted lizard ever bites a camper, he might as well go between the two shady oak trees and lie in the hammock.</p>
<p>There's not much anyone can do to a man who’s waiting to die.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>I've missed you,</em> she thought, <em>I've missed you so much my chest hurts, and now there is a new one coming, I can see him, and he feels just like you.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. nameless new kid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a new kid comes.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The stuffy wind that’s blowing in is hot in that way that feels like soft sheets of tissue paper wrapping around him, running over his body.</p>
<p>The air is so dry, it feels flammable. Every window on the bus is halfway down in a half-assed attempt to cool the air, but all it does is blow around the hot air like a hairdryer to the face.</p>
<p>He shifts on his seat, feeling the sweat dampen his pants where it touches the plasticy leather. He hopes it won't look like he had wet his pants on the ride over. It was a long ride after all.</p>
<p>He’s the only passenger on the bus if he isn’t counting the driver or the guard. The guard sits across from him, next to the driver, seated in a way to secure the front of the bus, rifle laying across his lap. He’s slumped over in his seat with steady breathing. He is a big white man with a shaved head, mustache, and reflective aviators covering his presumably closed eyes. He definitely doesn’t look like he jumped at the chance to ‘rehabilitate justice-involved youth’, but rather punish short criminals.</p>
<p>Despite being in plain view of the guard, he rolls his eyes to himself. As if he’s more likely to go for the bus doors instead of the window above him. It doesn’t matter anyway: both are out of reach. He is handcuffed to his seat, tightly.</p>
<p>He looks at his small backpack sitting next to him. It was his foster mother who gave him the backpack to keep his stuff in. Before that he was using the garbage bag that his social worker gave him to carry everything from place to place after he lost the duffle his real mom gave him.</p>
<p>All the backpack has in it is his new toothbrush and toothpaste. His foster mother had wanted him to bring it regardless of how empty it would be, out of some misplaced hopeful thinking. He likes the comfort of having the backpack itself though: it reminds him of his mom. He doesn’t have any photos of her after all, and sometimes he would run his hand across the once stiff synthetic fabric that was now slightly fuzzy and soft in spots where the material had been worn down. He sags deeper into the seat, mimicking his backpacks slouched posture. Everything he’s ever owned gets used until it breaks down completely, unable to be salvaged, and he feels his own seams start to split. It was bad getting separated from her, but he guiltily settled into the steadiness of just being in a single place for once.</p>
<p>His foster mother was an older white woman with chin-length ashy brown hair. She smelled like the cigarettes she swore she didn’t smoke, fresh house paint, and hot chocolate. She looked… soft, in her own way, and was unsettlingly serene despite her rough voice and stained coveralls. He has always been wary of people like that. Her hands once raked through his curls, and before he could stop himself he flinched, waiting for the harsh tug that never came. She looked sad then, but understanding and put her hands back by her sides, away from view. The kindness in her eyes made him uncomfortable, but steady meals and real bed had won him over after a while. The foster house was better than the group home he transferred from, she didn't hit him–his real mom only did it when she was angry or scared, but it was still nice to learn to relax his shoulders for once, mostly anyway–and she gave him what she could, hand-me-down clothes and shampoo just for him.</p>
<p>None of that matters now, no one needs things in juvie.</p>
<p>If he could apologise to his real mom, he would. He never should have broken his promise. He tried to keep it, he really had. But he had broken it, and now he’s here.</p>
<p>He rubs the woven pea straw bracelet around his wrist, and despite the light material it's made of, it weighs on him heavily, a gift from his father he doesn't dare to abandon.</p>
<p>Looking out the window gets boring fast, but he’s used to that by now. He watches the power lines turn to fields of cotton turn to hay turn to a cracked up dessert. Long bus rides to nowhere are nothing new.</p>
<p>While he does regret breaking his promise, he doesn’t regret his crime. He didn’t mean to forget himself while hurting the older kid, but he had, and he had kept going until he went a little too far. The older kid was a lot bigger and definitely not much of a kid anymore. His ever constant migraine blew up behind his blue eyes and he stared at the older boy's face and watched the blood pour out of his nose and lips. He felt as if he was possessed by his father’s spirit, unable to stop himself until after he felt something crack. His knuckle was cut on a jagged tooth, fist still swollen from puffy scabs that itch as he picks at them. He was lucky to be only thirteen. The twenty-something year old ‘kid’ looked ridiculous pressing charges against someone much younger and smaller than him, but his nose had been broken, along with a few teeth. Even though he was only thirteen, he was lucky to be given such a light sentence. Considering his brown skin, most judges weren't likely to see him more than anything beyond a small adult to be tried.</p>
<p>He exhales a short breath at the thought of luck. Him being lucky is a joke in itself.</p>
<p>His mom would tell him to not get so complacent. She is deathly afraid of the curse, so much so that he used to think it was just a scapegoat for everything that happened, though he’d recently changed his mind.</p>
<p>He remembers the rumbling feeling of her talking, how she would hold him close and rock as she sang. She would hum hard so he could feel it, a moment of tenderness between them when he was younger, sometimes to comfort him after his father got mad and sometimes as a way to apologize for her own actions.</p>
<p>
  <em>“If only, if only,” the bloody hare sighs,<br/>“The thorns of the bush were just a little bit softer.”<br/>While the fox waits outside, hungry and lonely,<br/>He cries to the moo–oo–oon,<br/>“If only, if only.”</em>
</p>
<p>The melody made her smile at him with tired eyes, but he never knew if it was because she was thinking about how he was cursed or if the melody was sad. Either way, the song always loosened the tight ball of fear in his chest and made his migraines subside, if only for a moment.</p>
<p>His father had the migraines too, but he never used the song. Instead he would stare uncaringly at whatever thing dared to get in the way of his lethal gaze. Thinking of his father only tightens the ball of fear again. He is always afraid of becoming his father.</p>
<p>Generational curse aside, he is the spitting image of his father, with hair the color of dried blood, and eyes like the dark blue glass of his mom’s nazar amulet. He hates his eyes most of all, even a quick glance at them in the mirror makes him sick. His first name is his own at least, even if it was only to be named after his great great grandfather, but the difference of four letters comforted him.</p>
<p>The bus hits a bump, making the guard jerk awake. They had pulled off a paved road and onto a dirt track a few hours back. Hands resting on the vinyl printed leather, he feels the world shake around him, like an airplane taking off, but sharper.</p>
<p>He feels a familiarity to the space, as if he has been here before, despite knowing he hasn’t.</p>
<p>He can feel himself remembering something in the same way someone remembers a dream, it always feels impossible to forget something that once felt as real as life. All the loose yarn inside his head that he doesn’t even notice before begins to unravel in reverse, slowly showing the shape of what used to be knitted.</p>
<p>But untangling always feels like a race, and it’s never linear. If he doesn’t do it fast enough he will lose his place within the knots and that memory will disappear again.</p>
<p>He’s too slow. The bus slows to a stop and the guard gets up, stretching his arms while adjusting his hold on the gun.</p>
<p>He can feel the guard’s footsteps on the bus floor as he stalks over to undo his handcuffs, his shoulders tensing on instinct.</p>
<p>Looking up, he watches the guard sarcastically say, “Welcome to Camp Green Lake.”</p>
<p>He looks out the corner of his eye through the dusty window. He didn't tend to hold high expectations, but if he had the energy he would have laughed at the irony that Camp Green Lake was not proving itself to be particularly green.</p>
<p>The guard adjusts his handcuffs, freeing him from the seat but not from himself. The air outside proves itself to be an even dryer heat than the bus. Each breath feels stifling, his face burns with heat the way it does when standing too close to a fire. He feels like spending months here will dry his eyes up like raisins.</p>
<p>He can feel blood flowing back into his limbs in the way his body floods with static, stiff from being in the same position for so long, his left arm cramping. While getting escorted out of the bus, he notices the driver's clock. He had been on this bus for over eight hours.</p>
<p>The bus driver looks at him and says, “Be careful.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t know if the driver meant going down the steps or in the camp, but he tries to play nice. “Thanks for the ride,” he says, as clearly as he can. His mouth is dry from the hot bus ride and lack of food or water, and he hasn't spoken much in a long time.</p>
<p>The shock of stepping off onto the hard dry dirt hurts his ankles. It feels like concrete below him, and he looks out at the sparse run-down buildings and tents. Farther away there is a cabin with two trees. There isn't much else besides those two trees, not even weeds. This didn’t feel like a prison, it feels like a fish bowl without water and nowhere to hide.</p>
<p>The guard doesn’t let him look for longer than a second before he continues to steer the two of them over towards the closest of the small buildings.</p>
<p>They walk past a sign designating an entrance to the camp. The sign reads <span class="small">DEPARTMENT OF JUVENILE JUSTICE</span>, with a second statement below declaring that it is in violation of the law to bring guns, explosives, weapons, drugs, or alcohol onto the premises. It’s the same standard sign that makes its way onto every public government building. He used to wait for his mom under those signs at libraries while having half of the banned items listed in his duffle.</p>
<p>Stepping into the building makes him shiver, the air conditioning welcome even if it makes his sweat turn cold and his skin break out into goosebumps.</p>
<p>A man with a cowboy hat is sitting with his boots propped up on the desk in front of him. He wears aviators too, and matches the guard’s general body type, but in worse shape. He would have been pale if it wasn't for a layer of freckles so thick it works its way into a tan with white spots. His hand crushes an empty soda can, and his thick fingers are covered in rings and calluses.</p>
<p>The man with the cowboy hat looks sharply at him before nodding to the guard to take off his cuffs, where sweat had formed wet lined patches like twin bracelets. Despite being free, fear fills his gut uncomfortably as two grown men in power share the space of the small office with him. Collecting himself, he separates himself from his body, calmly pulling his emotions deep into his mind. Practicing the lesson on how withdrawing from the world is the best way to avoid attention.</p>
<p>Either oblivious to his discomfort or simply not caring, the guard hands the man in the cowboy hat some papers to sign.</p>
<p>“That's a lot of sunflower seeds,” the guard says. He cuts a glance over at the large burlap sack open, spilled sunflower seeds scattered over the desk, empty bags discarded onto the floor.</p>
<p>“I quit smoking last month,” the man responds. He watches the man sign the papers, staring at the tattoo of a snake coiling around a rabbit on his arm. Watching the movement, the snake looks like it’s squeezing tighter. He glances at the man's face again before looking away quickly, afraid to get caught. “I used to smoke a pack a day. Now I eat a sack of these every week.”</p>
<p>The guard laughs.</p>
<p>The man reaches into a small refrigerator just out of sight, pulling out two more soda cans.</p>
<p>The man holds one out in offering, but he is too scared to take it despite being thirsty, but also not wanting to draw attention to himself by refusing. Before he can finish deciding his move, the guard takes the can and he realizes it was never meant for him in the first place.</p>
<p>“Nine hours here, nine hours back,” the guard states, absently making small talk while leaving to go back.</p>
<p>He resists shifting in his uncomfortable seat, instead focusing on his still tingling legs and keeping his breath even. The man doesn’t watch the guard leave, but instead says emptily, “What a treat,” while staring at him instead. The man pops sunflower seeds into his mouth without breaking eye contact, and spits them out in his direction.</p>
<p>He doesn’t let himself flinch.</p>
<p>
  <em>He knew it, he knew it, he knew it.</em>
</p>
<p>“Well hello, Nathaniel. It's been a minute, hasn’t it?” Romero says.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. out of the frying pan and into the fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nathaniel and Romero have a little chat.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>brief mentions of Nathan, scars, and standard nudity and inspection that takes place before one enters juvie/prison.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Romero stares across the desk at him, his shoulders lax with confidence: the opposite to Nathaniel's full body tension. Nathaniel has been living in a nameless dream for a few years, but now he’s been woken up. He always knew he would run out of road to run away on, but the cut off still feels painful and too soon. </p><p>“Well, aren’t you going to say hello back? Where are your manners?”</p><p>The last time Nathaniel saw Romero, it was only hours before the night that changed everything. His mom grabbing two duffles and quickly stuffing them while she was still tacky with his father’s blood.</p><p>
  <em> “Listen to me, Abram–listen. The cops are on their way, okay? We don’t have time. Be quiet and do what I say.” </em>
</p><p>Nathaniel’s hesitation only serves to make Romero bark out a laugh. “Three years since you last saw me, and you forget my name? That's not very nice. I’m hurt, Nathaniel, I really am.” Romero doesn't look hurt, he looks giddy, holding all the cards. Romero continued, “Well, now here you will call me Mr. Malcolm, or Sir. Now, what do you say?”</p><p>Nathaniel remembers wanting to laugh at the sight of all the blood, not believing it possible to wake up from the nightmare of his father’s smile, but instead he swallowed his joy deeply. He could celebrate later, somewhere without approaching sirens. His mother grabbed his shattered pieces and shoved them out the door. They didn’t have time for Nathaniel to wait and put himself back together.</p><p>After Mary disappeared, Nathaniel felt himself break in a new way after that, as if a dam had been broken he had become all the more difficult to contain. He felt like a simmering pot ready to boil over, and his loss of control led him right into one of the five people his mom told him he was to make sure at all costs not to encounter.</p><p>Nathaniel swallows thickly at the memory, feeling pressure build behind his eyes, his ever-present headache building.</p><p>“Yes, Sir.” Nathaniel says, and looks directly into Romero’s eyes.</p><p>Romero glares back and spits out, “And don't look at me with your creepy fucking eyes.”</p><p>Nathaniel's throat feels swollen, but he doesn’t dare disobey, and takes his gaze away from Romero’s eyes to watch his mouth instead. Nathaniel forces himself to watch Romero speak in case he misses a word, fearing answering wrong. “Yes, Sir.”</p><p>“Now that's a good boy,” Romero smiles, a smug and lazy smile that stretched across his sun-spotted face. </p><p> </p><p>The worst part about being reunited with his past was having to continue with checking in. Romero oversees the process either because it’s a short-staffed place, or simply to watch Nathaniel be humiliated. It was technically all protocol, but it didn't make him feel less vulnerable. </p><p>He’s taken to a room to remove all clothing, squat, and cough. He’s grateful Romero says nothing about the vast markings covering his torso, legs, and arms, even if he huffs in amusement and disgust at the thickly raised shapes. Nathaniel knew they were ugly, and everyone seeing them always resulted in some reaction, not that many people saw them. He considered himself lucky that his face and hands had been spared. The rule was nothing a suit wouldn't cover, and it was diligently followed.</p><p>Romero gives him sets of clothes and a towel with the motions of someone who has done these actions thousands of times. He hardly has to look while passing everything over. Handing off two long-sleeved jumpsuits, two pairs of yellowed socks and shirts. Both the socks and the shirts had likely been white once, by looking at the sweat stains where the yellow-orange is darkest. Despite his small size, however, the jumpsuit fits him well, better than anything he has owned in a long time. Nathaniel wonders how small the sizes go. </p><p>Ultimately he doesn’t care, he just needed something to cover his scars and he got it. </p><p>He is also loaned a canteen made of heavy plastic, a pair of new white slip-on shoes nicer than his own worn-down runners, and a hat. At least the hat has a cloth that draped off of it. It was practical and would prevent his neck from burning. Unfortunately that list of items didn't include underwear and he only has the one pair he came in wearing, but he will make it work.</p><p>Lastly, he was given a handful of shower tokens, a bar of soap and a warning about how those were a weekly privilege, not a right. </p><p>Nathaniel dresses quickly, and he finds the material stiff and smelling like harsh soaps.</p><p>Romero seems to still be slipped into default mode, listing off how Nathaniel should wear one set to work in and one for rec time. Laundry is done every three days, so when his work set is washed, the other set will become his work clothes, and he will get clean clothes to wear while resting. Nathaniel savors wearing completely clean clothes while it lasts, knowing better than to take the feeling for granted. </p><p>“You are to dig one hole each day, including Saturdays and Sundays. Each hole must be five feet deep, and five feet wide, in every direction. Your shovel is your measuring stick. Breakfast is at 4:30, got that, Junior?”</p><p>Nathaniel refuses to give him the reaction he desires, and only nods. </p><p>“No one is going to babysit you,” Romero continues. “The longer it takes you to dig, the longer you will be out in the sun. if you dig up anything interesting, you are to report it to me or any other counselor. When you finish, the rest of the day is yours.” </p><p>He seems to be looking for something in Nathaniel's face, while Nathaniel looked back, only looking at the bottom half of his face instead of his eyes. </p><p>Romero smirks and checks Nathaniel’s backpack before handing it back, allowing him to keep it before leading them back outside.</p><p>Nathaniel has gotten used to the air conditioning, and leaving the room lets him immediately feel his pores opening up to sweat, staining the new jumper suit. </p><p>“Take a good look around you, Junior.” Romero said. “What do you see?”</p><p>Nathaniel feels like this is another trick question, but responds anyway. “Not much… Sir.”</p><p>Romero huffs. “You see any guard towers?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“How about an electric fence?”</p><p>“No, Sir.”</p><p>“Not even a regular fence, no fence at all, is there?” </p><p>“No, Sir.”</p><p>“You want to run away?” Romero asks him.</p><p>Nathaniel looks up to his eyes quickly, trying to read between the lines without having a script. </p><p>“If you want to run away, go ahead, start running. I won't stop you.”</p><p>Nathaniel knows Romero is playing a game, and he plans on winning. Nathaniel’s eyes flick to Romero’s hip, one hand resting on top of his holster, before looking back up quickly. </p><p>“I see you noticed my gun. I'm not going to shoot you.” Romero taps his holster. “This here is for yellow-spotted lizards. You’re not worth the bullet.”</p><p>Silence lapses, Nathaniel knows Romero wants him to respond, but he doesn’t know how. Nathaniel isn’t offended, he’s just trying to think ahead to predict damage control.</p><p>“Nobody runs away from here. We don’t need a fence. Know why? Because we’ve got the only water for a hundred miles. You want to run away? You’ll be dead in three days.”</p><p>Sometimes, adults don't need to lie because the truth is much worse. </p><p>Nathaniel spots a couple of boys pop out of the pits they dug, wondering if their foxholes provide shelter from the burning sun. Nathaniel watches them, bodies limply dragging their shovels behind them, covered in dirt and walking towards the tents. He sees movement in the corner of his eye and looks back at Romero. He still has a corner of his mouth tugged up, amused.</p><p>“You thirsty, Junior?” he asks.</p><p>Nathaniel knew better than to answer. He knew it was a joke.</p><p>“I know you are. And you better get used to it. You're going to be thirsty for the next eighteen months.” Romero punctuates his sentiment with spitting sharply at the ground in front of </p><p>Nathaniel's feet before walking away.</p><p>Nathaniel watches the patch dry quickly while he feels the heat of the dirt through his shoe soles like asphalt. He knows he doesn’t have eighteen months here, or anywhere, and Romero knows it too. Shooting fish in a barrel. Nathaniel curls his toes to redirect the restlessness pooling in his feet and looks out to the horizon. </p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. out with the young in with the younger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Andrew inspects the new kid.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw for dead-naming and misgendering a background character</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andrew’s whole body is tired in the way it always is in Camp Green Lake, but he still watches with sharp eyes, looking out for the newest happy camper. He doesn’t think his body has ever been fully at capacity, so it doesn’t make much of a difference anyway. He knows whoever it is will likely be joining their group since Smalls left only two days ago. </p><p>He looks out to the six large gray tents, each with a large black letter printed on the canvas: A, B, C, D, E, or F. The first five tents are for the campers, and the counselors in the last one. Naturally tent F is by far the nicest. Andrew is waiting, looking for movement around his own tent — D — when he spots the new kid with Counsellor Plank. Andrew was right, the new kid is joining D. </p><p>Counselor Plank always looks a little bit like a tomato; he even shaves the top of his head to hide his receding hairline. He isn’t as big as Mr. Malcolm, but it was close. He wears zinc sunscreen and never seems to rub it in all the way, leaving his face covered in white streaks. Not that the sunscreen seemed to work much, his skin perpetually sunburnt a painful peeling pink. Despite this, his demeanor is gratingly animated, acting like a volunteer soccer coach for underprivileged youths. </p><p>Andrew can begin to make out their conversation, but only barely since they’re still far away. He doesn’t want to get any closer to draw much attention however, lest he be asked to do something. </p><p>“Romero isn’t so bad,” says Counselor Plank. “You better be careful though, he’s been a little testy since he quit smoking. But the person you really got to worry about is the Warden. There’s really only one rule at Camp Green Lake: don’t upset the Warden.”</p><p>Andrew watches the kid nod absently. It didn’t look like he’s listening.</p><p>From what Andrew can tell, Counsellor Plank is revving up for his usual tirade; about how he’s the camp's designated ‘life coach,’ as if meeting up once a week for group to remind them of their failures was going to do anything. Besides, Andrew is pretty sure ‘life coach’ is code for ‘unlicensed therapist.’ He tunes out for a minute and decides to walk over to the outside wall phone and wait in the small shadow it provides while he continues to eavesdrop slightly out of sight. He didn’t get a good look at the new kid, but he can hear his funny voice that doesn’t really fit his body, he looks maybe a year younger than Andrew but it doesn't sound like it’s still struggling to drop. It sounds caught in the bridge of his nose and settling in the back of his throat stiffly. </p><p>He watches Gordon and Boyd walk by, two of the older boys also from group D, and Counselor Plank notices them quickly. “Matthew! Brian! Come over here, would you?”</p><p>Andrew listens closer, Plank never calls anyone by anything but their first name. It had annoyed Gordon endlessly but he couldn’t hit a counselor. The two of them haven’t gone to the showers yet, and are so covered in dirt and dust no one could see the color of their skin.</p><p>Counselor Plank continues, “I need you two to show round our newest member of our team, Junior.”</p><p>Boyd and Gordon look at ‘Junior’ unimpressed. Andrew shifts a bit to look at him too and sees a kid who might be shorter than him, wearing the hat already. It covers his hair and part of his face, but Andrew could see his stiff posture and olive-toned hands with pink palms, one fist swollen around his scabbed knuckles. The new kid is tugging at his sleeves and running his hands down his front as if to smooth down his shirt.</p><p>“What? Holy shit he looks ten,” Gordon says. Boyd seems to agree, but doesn’t respond and ‘Junior’ shifted as if thinking of protesting and deciding against it. Even Andrew looks ten to them, Gordon is going to age out soon at age 17 and Boyd is just a year behind at 16. </p><p>“What happened to Janie?” Boyd asks. </p><p>“<em>Ethan </em> is still in the hospital,” responds Plank. “ <em> He </em>won’t be returning.” Boyd looks uncomfortable about the treatment of his missing friend, but he wasn’t about to start anything, and Gordon didn’t care. He had been weird to her in the beginning, but since Boyd and Janie had already been close and Gordon wasn’t as good at being a lone-wolf as he pretends to be, he learned to seal his lips fast. The same couldn’t be said for the others.</p><p>Counselor Plank makes them all shake hands “like gentlemen” and Gordon grunts out an indifferent “Hey,” while Boyd who despite being disappointed by the news, still manages a weak greeting himself. </p><p>Counselor Plank tells Boyd to go to the Rec Hall and find the rest of group D so they can come meet ‘Junior.’ Once Boyd left, Plank headed inside tent D. Andrew waits until the others start to come toward him so he can follow them into the tent rather than be the first. </p><p>While the tent is technically shaded, it also traps in the heat. Inside it's musty, and smells like cleaned up barf, body odor, and a jizz sock.</p><p>Andrew wanders over to his cot at the very back of the tent and sits down. He made someone swap with him when he first got here, and although it doesn’t make much of a difference with how the cots are each less than two feet apart, it still helps to have his back to the tent.  </p><p>“Alright, which one was Ethan’s cot?” Counselor Plank asks.</p><p>“Small’s slept here,” Gordon responds by kicking her old bed as he walks to his own. </p><p>“Okay, Junior, that’s now yours,” Plank says over his shoulder to the new kid behind him. </p><p>“You lot can take it from here, I have work to do.” </p><p>Andrew doubts it, since his job is to be their counselor and he isn’t currently counseling, but passing off their work onto the campers seemed to be the staff’s general M.O. around here. </p><p>Andrew watches the new kid walk in like it’s a trap, looking around and then back to the cots. He didn’t have the usual judgment of those who were used to sleeping in better places however, so Andrew wonders if he’s been in juvie before. His gaze was sharp, with deep blue eyes shining bright until the tent flap closed, leaving them back to the dim light from before. Andrew looks hard at the new kid, his light brown skin with its freckles and rich brown hair, Andrew has never seen someone have eyes that blue before, much less with his skin tone. The new kid just looks… interesting. He looks like a lot of girls get crushes on him. Andrew looks away quickly.</p><p>The others are all shuffling around and starting to settle down into their own spots, and the new kid seems to wait until they all land in their cots before going to put his empty backpack under his, rather than using the seven repurposed crates that were opposite to the beds for that exact reason. Andrew notices that they seem to have forgotten to give him a sheet around the same time the kid does while looking around at the other mats. The kid doesn’t complain though, so he must rather sleep on four inches of cheap foam covered in plastic bare rather than talk to one of the adults here again.</p><p>Nicky seems to have grown too uncomfortable with the silence that has fallen after Counselor Plank left. “Hey! I’m Nicky. Hiding in that corner is my cousin, Andrew,” Nicky says, pointing to Andrew, who ignores him, “and sulking over there is my other cousin, Aaron.” Aaron ignores Nicky too. ‘Junior’ seems to glance quickly at both of them but continues to watch Nicky speak. “Yes, I know: by blood.” New Kid doesn’t change the expression on his face, and Nicky laughs. “My mom’s Mexican, like she’s from Oaxaca I think, but anyway–” Nicky interrupts himself, “Woah, you have killer eyes!” </p><p>New Kid shrinks into himself as if he doesn't know where in the room to look. Nicky, oblivious as always, prattles on. “I mean they’re just so pretty. Wow, I wish I had blue eyes like that. Hey um–what uh, what's your culture? Like your ethnicity?” Nicky seems to feel he was digging himself a hole and the new kid wasn’t exactly giving him an out. </p><p>“Uhm… mixed.” he says flatly, like if that actually answers anything.</p><p>“Oh,” Nicky responds, clearly wishing for more specifics. Surprisingly, Nicky seems to pick up on this awkward silence and decides to ramble as if Camp Green Lake really was a camp rather than kiddie prison. </p><p>The others, no longer obligated to stay here now that counselor Plank is gone–Kevin hadn't even bothered to show up–shuffle around, gathering their changes of clothes and shower supplies before leaving again. </p><p>Nicky seems to have given up on talking to the new kid, too many saturated silences and vague answers for his nosey taste. Andrew decides the boring intel isn't worth the smell of the tent, and walks back to the wall phone outside and waits.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. plain as day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nathaniel has dinner with the campers</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW at endnotes<br/>all grammar mistakes are my own<br/>for clarity, I HC most of the foxes as different races than the common fanon interpretation.<br/>Matt isn't black, he is Filipino-American, and Seth is half white (dad), and half Vietnamese (mom). this as well as the other fox boys will be discussed/mentioned later, but if you choose to ignore it and imagine what you like, thats your choice.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nicky seems to have bored himself quickly after Nathaniel didn’t respond much. Nathaniel just didn't have anything to say and the older kid talks too fast. While Nicky presumably heads off to the showers, Nathaniel grabs his empty water bottle to finally have his first drink of water for the day. </p><p>Two of the older boys from his group are stretching their arms out in front of the tent’s entrance, so Nathaniel has to walk between the two of them to get through. </p><p>The buffer and slightly taller one from earlier seems to have noticed him. “Hey! New Kid! Sorry about before. My name's Matt and this is Seth. If the others give you trouble just let us know, yeah? Or if you need anything else,” he says, seeming to have more energy in him than he did when they first were introduced.</p><p>The dirt is thick on their skin, turning the two of them into twin silhouettes that tower over him. The two of them have similarly shaped eyes, shallow sockets and smooth upper lids, and both have typical teenage acne visible as raised bumps through the dirt on their faces, but aside from that and height, their similarities ended there. The stocky, buff guy–Matt–has longer hair that lies bone-straight down his face, parted in the middle, and the short hairs growing straight out on the sides of his head like a porcupine. He looks like he could knock a guy out in one punch but would only do it if he had to, while the awkwardly lanky one—Seth apparently, not Brian—has skinny arms but seems to be glaring around as if he’s waiting to start something. The skinny one's hair was a dark brown dandelion puff, a neglected buzz-cut that looks like he got shocked by electrically, standing up and out in a similar way to Matt’s sides.</p><p>Seth just rolls his eyes, the gesture almost hidden behind his thick black glasses all scratched and dirty from the grit of Green Lake. He takes them off to wipe his face, revealing a stark line at the bridge of his nose where the skin is clear of dust.</p><p>Seth looks at Nathaniel, grimacing in a way that could be from the bright light or just his natural expression, his nose slightly scrunched and annoyed. He still seems just as uncomfortable about Nathaniel’s age as he was when they were introduced. Nathaniel wants to correct him, and tell him he’s thirteen, not ten, but that would only make him sound younger, and decides to drop it. </p><p>Matt seems to notice the empty canteen in his hand and says, “Oh yeah, you can fill that up by the spigot, it’s behind that tent over there.” He points towards the bathrooms and showers. “We’re going that way anyway so just follow us.”</p><p>Seth elbows him, but they seem to have a vaguely private conversation while Nathaniel is still standing right there, the two of them murmuring about ‘choosing a side’ before quickly dropping it.</p><p>Matt smiles. “You know, it not that bad here—”</p><p>“It is,” Seth interrupts.</p><p>“Ignore him,” Matt continues. Seth only seems to say something when he’s contradicting Matt or complaining, but the two of them look to still get on well enough despite it. </p><p>Seth gently shoves Matt before their actions and their actions quickly unravel into friendly roughhousing on the dirt-covered ground. Their laughs full of a life unfamiliar to Nathaniel, a touch without the intent to knock someone down and keep them there. There is a levity to the way they interact with each other despite their circumstances, and Nathaniel has never seen anything like it before. These boys have been spending months in this camp. The familiarity between the two of them stirs in his gut, but not unpleasantly. Nathaniel doesn't crave that type of contact or to be a part of the action, content to watch, but he’s thrown by the type of interaction as a whole, observing with mild curiosity. </p><p>His mom is the closest thing he has ever had to a friend, and she wasn’t exactly the laughing type. She grabbed him fiercely and held on tight, every one of their actions weighed down with the suspicion of surveillance.</p><p>Seth barks out a laugh when he loses his glasses, and Matt calls him a nerd while helping him up and grabbing the frames up off the ground, before trying to dust them off and hand them back. Seth tries to smother his smile, while looking around to see Nathaniel watching them before saying, “Well? What are you waiting for? C'mon, let's go,” as if he wasn't part of the reason for the delay, and strolled on.</p><p> </p><p>The tap fills Nathaniel’s canteen at a pace barely above a dribble, and the water is cloudy and leaves an aftertaste in his mouth like residue. But after a whole day without water it tastes like the best thing he has ever had to drink before. It helps wash away the stale taste in his mouth and he finally has something other than his own spit to drink. </p><p>He must have made a noise of some kind, because Seth was looking at him with laughter in his eyes. “Yeah, the water always tastes good the first time. Takes a few weeks to forget what normal water tastes like.”</p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t know what to say, so he nods slightly and continues to drink. </p><p>He feels his stomach slosh uncomfortably, reminding him of a half-empty milk jug. He knew drinking water too fast prevents it from his body actually absorbing it, so after his second round of chugging he reigns in his self-control and starts to pace himself. </p><p>He tops off the canteen one more time before screwing it shut and going around to the entrance to check out the bathroom situation while Matt and Seth head to the showers.</p><p>The toilets and urinals are the closest to the entrance, near the shabby sinks and foggy sheet metal as mirrors. The smell of urinal cakes and piss burns the air and his eyes. Further down the bathroom were the showers. Each stall has hard plastic walls and thin plastic curtains blocking off each section. The bathroom looks about the same as what he had expected, it reminds him of the communal bathrooms near a lot of trailer parks, but those showers at least had locks on the doors. He knows he has no choice, so he plans to wait until it's as empty as he thinks it's ever going to be. </p><p>Back at the tent, Nathaniel waits until the shower rush seems to be over, before grabbing his soap, towel, and tokens from his bag and heading back.</p><p>He slips into the shower stall. He doesn't have any shower shoes to prevent a foot infection from the grimey tile floor, and since he’ll be on his feet all day digging holes he decides to leave his socks on just for now. He can figure out something better later. </p><p>The cubicle is too small for him to leave the water on while he gets undressed without getting wet, so he just will have to undress as fast as he can. While making noise is against his nature, Nathaniel tries to shuffle so no one thinks his stall is empty and opens the curtain. The milky plastic curtain feels clear as he takes off his clothes for the second time that day. He turns on the water and stands under the cold spray. It’s odd how the water felt lukewarm when he drank it earlier but feels freezing now. Nathaniel doubts the water is going to get any warmer, and ignores his chattering teeth. He lets the water rinse through his hair, cooling off his scalp and making him shiver. Nathaniel decides having his back to the curtain is best for shielding his body—he’s never fully seen the scars on his back and knows it probably isn’t better than his front, but at least his crotch is hidden. </p><p>The water only lasts for about three minutes, which is typical for places that run on shower tokens, but without his mom guarding his stall he doesn’t feel as safe and ends up not using the bar of soap. He dresses quickly, ignoring how his wet curly hair drips down his neck. His clothes dampen, beginning to chafe on his skin. Standing on one foot at a time, he wrings out his wet socks and slips into his new white shoes barefoot. It’s definitely not the best way to do it, but he couldn't think of anything else at the moment. </p><p>Stuffing his damp socks into his pocket and grabbing his towel, he walks back to tent D, looking at the darkening sky. With no clouds, the setting sun looks like an egg yolk surrounded by fire. </p><p> </p><p>Sitting in the largest and hottest tent, about forty bodies clamber around, half already sitting at their tables and the second half in line for dinner. Nathaniel looks around to figure out the unspoken rules before someone had to tell him otherwise for breaking them. He doesn’t know for sure, but it looks like the campers don't mix outside their assigned tent groups too often, and decides to follow the same patterns. Tent D’s unofficial table is easy to find with Matt waving and Seth rolling his eyes. </p><p>The food isn’t the worst he's had, it looks like a type of stew, with browned meat and browned vegetables, all of it a little too soft in his mouth. He eats it all and uses his single slice of white bread to mop the plate clean. He hates vegetables, especially canned ones, but his mom didn't believe in food waste. </p><p>Once he finishes eating he looks up, seeing the others looking at him expectantly. </p><p>“What?” Nathaniel asks.</p><p>Their skin clear of dirt, Nathaniel can fully see them, Seth dotted with scattered moles and light in comparison to Matt’s darker skin. Seth’s forehead a gradient darkest at the top of his hairline from the sun. </p><p>Seth laughs, “I said, what’d you do?”</p><p>Nathaniel decides to take a sip of water, remembering his disappointed and tired social worker.</p><p>“Assault and battery.”</p><p>He sees a head turn, no longer pretending not to listen, and meets Nicky’s eyes across the table.</p><p>“Oh, that’s what Andrew did, too,” Nicky says.</p><p>Nathaniel looks over to the two short fat blond twins from before. He’s never met any of his own cousins before, so he’s not quite sure how much he looks like them. Besides the obvious difference in coloring, Nicky and his cousins don’t share much in features beyond their broad body types. Nicky is stocky, his height balancing him out, and is older with visible stubble and straight black hair. On the other hand, the cousins lack of height do no such favors, making them look almost squashed or compacted. They’re younger with a softness to their faces and peach fuzz on their cheeks. Nicky’s skin—too dark to be considered olive—is closer to Nathaniel’s own but much darker, and he has a cheerful and open expression in contrast with the twins’ closed off and burnt faces. Nathaniel takes a silent moment to be grateful he doesn't burn, even after several hours in the sun. It seems however long the twins have been here hasn't been enough to change their skin much, which remains stubbornly pale underneath the irritated pink, defiantly vulnerable despite the best efforts of their hats and sleeves. The twins also looked almost sickly looking with tired, deep-set eyes. One of them wears his sleeves pushed up and picks at his nails, peeling the skin with shaky hands, while the other has his sleeves pulled down and breathes shallow, his whole body eerily still. Both of them are looking at him, though the one picking at his nails looks away after getting caught staring, acting like he didn’t even notice Nathaniel, the other doesn't. His face is blank. Nathaniel thinks that one’s Andrew. His blankness is a genuine flatness that differs him from his brother Aaron, who curls in on his body in a contradictory manner to his expression, staring at the world much like the way Seth does. Both twins look like they would get in a fight, but Andrew looks like he would finish it.</p><p>He notices one more person he didn’t see in the tent earlier that day. This kid is older than him, like everyone else in the group, and has black hair and tanned skin, and when he turns his head they both freeze.</p><p>Kevin. </p><p>Andrew seems to notice the new tension, and stares even harder at Nathaniel, but Nathaniel can’t stare back, he’s too busy looking into the same green eyes he saw only three years ago as they watched his father kill a man. As he watched Nathaniel be ordered to finish it.</p><p>Both of them look away, pretending nothing happened. </p><p> </p><p>After dinner, Kevin comes for him. His eyes are dark and full of intent, but Nathaniel is mostly annoyed by the lack of subtlety. The other kids seem to know to turn a blind eye, especially those outside group D. Kevin shakes his head to Andrew, and Andrew rolls his eyes but strolls on. Matt tries to step in too, but Nathaniel nods for him to go as well. Matt listens, but glares at Kevin before walking away.</p><p>Kevin impatiently waits for the others to stroll along before he bites out a harsh “What the hell are you doing here?”</p><p>Nathaniel is torn between his urge to look away and his need to watch Kevin. He’s dreading this conversation, and whatever direction it takes, Nathaniel knows it's unlikely to be a good one. </p><p>Going for unhelpful honesty, Nathaniel says “I wasn’t lying back there. Assault and battery.”</p><p>The air is stiff with silence, his heart beating a tad too fast and hard for the calm Nathaniel is trying to preserve. </p><p>“Hey–” Nathaniel barely gets the word out before Kevin speaks again, “You can’t be here, you can't.”</p><p>Nathaniel is afraid, but fear is a useless emotion, and he does his best to swallow it down deep. “Oh yeah? Well they had a hard time keeping me out, you know how dying I was to go camping and all.”</p><p>Kevin steps forward intently, “Shut– Stop– Stop joking around. Shut up. Tell me it's not you, tell me you're not him.”</p><p>“Should I even bother pretending and say ‘who?’” Nathaniel responds.</p><p>Kevin rubs at his forehead in disbelief, “You can’t be here… why did you even– you can’t be here.”</p><p>“You know… it's a little too late for that,” Nathaniel says. </p><p>Kevin groans, covering his mouth like he's either going to throw up or scream.</p><p>“Hey, quiet down.” Nathaniel quickly looks around. “It’s hard enough to enforce this mutual denial with you pulling me to the side for everyone to see. Don't make this worse and literally go yelling for attention over here.”</p><p>Kevin's voice is a raw whisper, “You're dead. You're supposed to be dead– she killed you. They told us– she killed you.”</p><p>“Well, she didn’t.”</p><p>Kevin hunches in on himself, as if the weight on his shoulders caused by Nathaniel's presence was beginning to crush him. </p><p>Kevin continues mumbling, “We were in the living room when the news broke… it was everywhere. ‘Butchering in Baltimore’ and your mom’s photo beneath it. She–”</p><p>Nathaniel feels a surge of defensiveness for his mom, “She was not the worst of that house and you know it.” His mom wasn’t perfect, but she was his mom, and he owed her for his life.</p><p>Kevin comes back to himself, remembering his audience, “The worst of that house? Nathan is not the end of this–”</p><p>Nathaniel begins to feel irritation like an itch in his teeth and snaps out “I know,  you think I wouldn't have noticed that by now?” </p><p>Kevin has uncurled himself, his spine solidifying as he continues, “You clearly don’t know how serious this is. You are a child–”</p><p>Nathaniel's fear finally snaps, breaking itself and transforming into its next closest emotion, anger. “Oh, I'm the child? Out of the two of us who is more sheltered, huh? Who? You can't go around and act like you weren't about to cry like a baby just after seeing my face and then call me the child.” While being underestimated is useful, being patronized is aggravating. Nathaniel’s eyes burn, and he is so busy holding himself back he almost doesn't catch Kevin’s responding, “Well sorry if seeing a living death omen takes me by surprise.” </p><p>It’s those words that finally make it click, Kevin is terrified of him. Nathaniel had been distracted by all his own fears and threats to not realize he was someone else's, rendering Kevin’s raw expression hidden in plain sight. While Nathaniel's fear protects itself by turning into anger, Kevin’s hides under a patronizing tone, before cracking like an egg to show its weakness inside. It would be funny, the fifteen-year-old Kevin holding back his urge to cower from thirteen-year-old Nathaniel who is easily a foot shorter than him. It would have been funny if that fear wasn’t earned in the way it had been. He wonders what Kevin knows of the curse, clearly enough to be scared but doubts he knows much if he’s even willing to stand this close. Despite this fear he sees, Nathaniel struggles to hold his tongue, anger bubbling in the base of his throat from being treated like a stupid child. “Well, which one of us has had to exist as a ‘living death omen’ because of a fucking generational curse–that might I add–may be as old as Hashem himself? I'm not going to play this game with you. If you have something important to say, say it now, or I'm leaving.” Nathaniel knows he needs to cool down, and despite the discomfort in the vulnerability of it, he takes a moment to focus and squeeze his eyes shut. Kevin may have been saying information he already knew, but there was still a chance Kevin could slip something important or vital. He didn't know what it could possibly be, but anything could help and Nathaniel wasn't going to stop taking advantage of resources that could mean survival. </p><p>When he opens his eyes again Kevin’s mask is back on, face tense and agitated. “Well, you're either very unlucky, or very stupid. Do you at least know that you landed yourself in the only juvie facility under Moriyama control in all of Texas?”</p><p>Nathaniel feels a sardonic laugh bubble in his throat, painfully swallowed. “Yeah–yeah I do now,” Nathaniel rubs his face and continues, “I didn’t know until this afternoon when I arrived. But Romero's sister used to homeschool me back in Baltimore. Jackson worked with my father too, I think, but I mostly just saw her.”</p><p>Nathaniel feels calm enough to let himself focus again on Kevin, who’s eyes no longer solely panicked. The two of them stood in silence, both waiting for the other to speak.</p><p>It’s Kevin who breaks it first, “So she didn’t kill you.”</p><p>Nathaniel answers Kevin’s unasked question with confirmation. “No, she didn’t. She took me.”</p><p>Silence lapses again, the two of them lost in their respective memories of that night. His father was never confirmed to be the Butcher of Baltimore, but it was an open secret impossible to prove that festered in corners of the world like circles Kevin and Nathaniel lived in. His father’s bloody body dismembered in a way similar to his father’s own much more discreet methods, had people wondering if Mary had actually been the one pulling the strings. The news didn't care about the truth, they cared about ratings, and in that moment they knew their network wouldn't get sniped for covering this spectacle.  </p><p>Nathaniel’s mom didn’t say much, but she didn’t need to. It was too public, too sloppy, and Mary is methodical if anything. But that night she was wide-eyed and full of adrenaline, nightgown soaked in blotches rather than splatters, as she quickly grabbed a sleepy Nathaniel out of his groggy daze, his neck pinched from the odd angle of sleeping at his mom’s desk. His mind was startled from its state of sleep to then waking up to a world where his father wasn’t alive anymore, too confused to put the puzzle pieces together until later, after his euphoria from their escape wore off. He was staring out the window of a silent car, watching his first sunset in a world without Nathan when he realized: it wasn’t Mary who had finally killed his father, but the Moriyamas, and if Nathaniel didn’t hurry he would be next. </p><p>A week before Nathan's death, Kengo had collapsed in an important business meeting and was rushed to the hospital. After treatment, the doctors said they could find nothing wrong. Kengo had been bleeding from the nose, but besides minor bruising on his knees from when he fell, they could find nothing to explain his weakened state. Nathaniel’s father came home quiet from that meeting, a cold look in his eyes. The usual sharpness from his stare had melted into a glassy blind one. Mary had said nothing that night, her face devoid of its usual pinched disapproval. Her own blankness had set Nathaniel on edge as well, something bad had happened, and it was only the beginning. </p><p>The curse was a blunt weapon, and his father preferred the precision of knives. And it turns out his father’s lax control he held over his cursed gaze was deemed too dangerous. Nathan would have simply been punished publicly if he had simply raised a hand to Kengo disrespectfully, but this was something else. </p><p>A rabid dog that bites its master must be put down, but if that dog has a pup with the same disease and sharp teeth, then the whole litter must be taken care of.</p><p>It was probably supposed to be an easy hit, sloppy in just the right way for no one to look too close. But something must have gone wrong, because here Nathaniel still stood, alive and running. Nathaniel’s not sure how much his mom knew about that night. It was a rare treat to be let into what little personal space his mom had, a small room hidden away from the rest of the house under the large oak stairs. She stored book’s in there, stories from anything like <em> The Story of Leyla and Majnun</em>, to <em> The Golem</em>, to <em>The Shahnameh,</em> all in their original languages. While Nathaniel has never cared for reading, he loved language, and all the ways it changed. He never read them, but he would look at the letters and words, finding which ones appeared more often and study the structure of the sentences like a puzzle. </p><p>Mary’s hideaway had likely saved his life, his pinched neck preferable to a snapped one, and Nathaniel had been declared a cold case by the end of the week. The newscasters covering ‘<em> Recluse Mother Murders Husband and Flees...’ </em> only lasted for a week until the papers stopped selling and the world moved on, the front page news quickly replaced for an interview with a child selling lemonade for dogs and other important world events. Baltimore was notorious for missing children, and now Nathaniel was one of them, hoping to never be found. </p><p>Nathaniel shifts slightly, and his movement brings Kevin’s gaze back onto him. “So what happens next?”</p><p>Nathaniel can tell Kevin is holding himself back from stating a blunt, “You die,” and instead tries to dig for a more detailed response. In the end, he settles for: “When they come for you, listen to them. There is a chance they might show mercy.”</p><p>It is Kevin’s attempt at comfort, but it’s an obvious lie. At least now he seems to be less afraid of Nathaniel, and instead he is afraid for him. While Nathaniel can hope he stays at Camp Green Lake long enough for his mom to find him—yet short enough before the Moriyamas arrive and put him down—the timing doesn't line up favorably. He has to hope Romero holds onto him as a possible trading card or even personal sadistic pleasure. Nathaniel hardly cares as long as it puts off the certain death the Moriyamas bring.</p><p>Nathaniel continues to try to mine Kevin for useful information, but Kevin’s legal guardian, Tetsuji, wasn’t exactly in the inner loop, he is Riko’s uncle and like Riko is a second-born son. Second borns are like spare tires in the Moriyama family, kept in the dark but close by in case of untimely deaths and emergencies, where someone who holds the Moriyama name can temporarily keep people in line as a temporary replacement while waiting for a proper heir, but nothing long term. </p><p>So it wasn't much of a surprise to learn how little Kevin knew, but it was still disappointing all the same. Kevin seems to be willfully unobservant, afraid of knowing too much of anything and that hinders his ability to help Nathaniel in this moment. Nathaniel believes that anything Kevin could have observed about the camp, he could observe himself first hand more reliably. Besides, Kevin wasn’t groomed for the same type of paranoia as Nathaniel was. He wasn’t the type to watch shift changes and unlocked doors.</p><p>A new silence between them fell, this time stretching long and gooey, unlike the brittle quiet from before. They still had no idea how to interact with one another, but despite the supposed resurrection of an old acquaintance, Kevin had adjusted to this new truth rather quickly. They swallowed their respective emotions about the situation and continued as casually as they were capable of.</p><p>“So, you know why I’m here. What landed the not-so-perfect Kevin Day here?” Nathaniel asks.</p><p>Kevin rolls his eyes before crossing his arms and looking away, jaw clenched and unwilling to give up the information without a huff. Kevin finally looks back at him before responding, “Drunk driving.”</p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t sympathize, but he does understand why Kevin was unwilling to say. After all, Kevin's mother died from the same thing.</p><p>Kevin’s rambling now, saying how he wasn't actually that drunk and wasn't feeling it and shouldn't have lost control like that, ending with a quiet, “I just wanted to get away from him.”</p><p>Neither one need to say who ‘he’ meant; they both know it is in reference to Kevin’s foster brother Riko. The three of them only ever hung out once, and Riko kept making jokes about babysitting Nathaniel while in the next room adults spoke in low tones about deals and death sentences. Nathaniel knew better than to react to Riko as they waited idly in the living room, a nameless man watching them darkly, keen eyes sharp on Nathaniel's back. Riko stopped complaining when Nathan called them down to the basement to watch him eviscerate a man alive. When his father told Nathaniel to finish the job, he wasn’t allowed the luxury of flinching. Nathaniel was an isolated child, and before he and his mom ran away, Nathaniel was hardly ever permitted to leave the house. He was homeschooled and outside of meeting Kevin and Riko as kids, he hadn't really ever met anyone his age before, so much for first impressions.</p><p>Nathaniel can’t keep track of all of what Kevin is saying. He’s covering half his mouth speaking mostly to himself, and Nathaniel isn’t the best at dealing with other people's emotions. Nathaniel grabs Kevin’s arm and says, “Well, you did, didn’t you? You got away from him.”</p><p>Kevin sighs deeply. “Yeah… yeah I did, didn't I?” he says with a small unconvincing smile.</p><p>“You know,” Kevin continues, “I still technically have a social worker? Since Tetsuji never actually adopted me–just fostered–and um, I asked him–my social worker–to look into finding my dad. There– there might be a chance he finds him– my dad I mean. And whoever he is, he would have priority in guardianship over Tetsuji–not that I know if I really can, but, there's a chance.”</p><p>Kevin looks at Nathaniel with hesitant hopefulness in his eyes. Nathaniel doesn’t know how exactly Kevin is tied to this whole web; he knows Tetsuji and Kevin's mom Kayleigh were connected, but he doesn’t know how. Nathaniel doesn't understand Kevin’s child-like hope in a man he doesn't know anything about. Strangers are not to be trusted, especially strangers who accidentally father kids that end up tied to gang roots that grow deeper than either of them will ever know. If Kevin’s suspicions lied deeper than the shallow hesitance Nathaniel saw on his face now, he didn’t show it. Maybe Nathaniel was more jaded than Kevin, but Nathaniel doesn’t trust any adult besides his mom. They have proven themselves to be ignorant as best and lethally cruel at worst. Some random man who's supposedly only just discovered he’s Kevin’s father is no exception. Regardless, if Kevin has a way out of this whole mess, Nathaniel believes he should take it and run. A way out is a way out, and chances are a deadbeat dad is better than whatever Kevin was dealing with that drove him to his drunken desperate attempt at escape.</p><p>So Nathaniel is being truthful when he says, “I hope you find him.”</p><p>Kevin nods, swallowing hard. Despite the unorthodox situation, Nathaniel has never felt so normal before, remembering the moment earlier that evening between Matt and Seth rolling in the dirt.</p><p>Nathaniel and Kevin look at each other, assessing the other yet again. Paranoia and distrust are survival techniques, and taking someone at face value could be fatal. But Kevin seems to have relaxed into himself, and right when Nathaniel is about to shift to leave, Kevin speaks up again. </p><p>“What about you?” </p><p>Nathaniel thinks about the barless cage he’s trapped in. “Well… it looks like I’m going to have to wait.”</p><p>Kevin seems at a loss for words at Nathaniel’s calm tone. But Nathaniel doesn’t have a choice, he can freak out about it later: now is the time to learn what exactly is in store for him and go from there. His fear had blinded him when he first saw Romero, the cruel truth that Lola likely wanted to be there to personally watch Nathaniel die, and Nathaniel isn’t going to ask Romero where his sister is anytime soon. </p><p>Besides, something was off about Camp Green Lake. Nathaniel didn’t know a lot about ‘behavioral correction facilities,’ but he finds it odd they’re only job is to dig holes rather than building houses or picking up trash on the highway, something adults could call constructive rather than exploitive. He wasn’t sure how much he could investigate considering who was running the place, but for now he would just have to keep his suspicion sharp: it’s his only weapon. Despite this, he doesn't have much of a plan. If he’s lucky, his mother will come before a hit from the Moriyamas is ordered. Nathaniel's only option is to wait and see, the stillness a jarring thing. Either way, it’s miles of desert with no water but plenty of time to think.</p><p>This time, the mood between them has a tone of finality, Nathaniel with one thing left to ask.</p><p>“Hey Kevin?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Don’t call me Nathaniel– or at least not in front of the others.”</p><p>“Okay... what should I call you?”</p><p>He couldn’t bear to give Kevin his middle name, it was too personal, saturated in the intimacy of quiet roads and sacred words. In all honesty, Nathaniel didn’t want to be referred to by anything at all. He felt nothing but dread about names and connections, and he felt no natural identity or connection to any of them. They have been just another way to lie to survive. Anything heard by any of the adults here would be tarnished, no longer truly his own. Nathaniel hesitates, knowing it's unreasonable, and honestly says “...I don’t know yet, I’ll tell you when I know.”</p><p>Kevin was looking at him with his brows pinched together, looking at Nathaniel with a lack of understanding, but no dismissal either. Kevin doesn’t understand, but he doesn't have to, so he nods and says, “Okay. I won’t,” and they both start walking back to tent D in silence. </p><p> </p><p>Lying down on the bare plastic cot, Nathaniel tries to twist his oncoming spiral into a new direction. Speaking with Kevin was picking at scabs, and now his whole mind felt sore and open. Nathaniel knows forcing his brain to blank was not an option, and instead forces himself to think of other memories, safer ones. Ones that still had the pinkness of freshly healing skin instead of the festering wounds he ignored.</p><p>He thinks back to his first group home, and how much he hated it. He shared a room with three other boys and the whole house was covered in alarms and locks to prevent sneaking out. It was the most trapped he had felt in ages, and on his third night there one of the older boys peed on his back as a joke while he was trying to sleep. They all laughed, and when the fighting broke out and the home runner came, she yelled at Nathaniel for wetting the bed at such an old age, mumbling to herself about how it should have been in his file. He cried hot angry tears in the shower while he washed off, of course only after being given permission to have a second shower that day. He remembers feeling like a frustrated little kid with too many emotions and too small of a body to hold them. He had swallowed his temper, but still felt it build up inside him, waiting for it to burst.</p><p>He supposes being trapped in the middle of a desert isn't much better than being trapped in a home. But at least if he decides to run, he would actually be able to leave, even if he would die before reaching anywhere. Juárez was only a few too many miles out of reach, but even if he did survive getting there somehow, he still didn't have a fake passport, and his Spanish still didn’t pass as native. He’d been growing rusty with disuse after his mom disappeared, but it wasn't just Spanish he stopped speaking: soon all his words dried up inside him, and he’d refused to speak a word to anyone for months. Besides, it was the best way to deal with questions he could not answer: what his name was, where he was from, who hurt him, if he had anyone at all. </p><p>His mom is right to be afraid of the family curse. She did her best to act as if it didn't even exist, but Nathaniel saw the fear in her eyes. She would push his head down and away, not wanting his eyes to touch her. He felt isolated in those moments, sitting in a Motel 6 staring outside the window. She was a ghost in the room and he wasn’t a medium, they existed separately yet together as she watches his back but he couldn't watch her’s. He wore contacts until his eyes got infected several times, but she always made him put them back in. He doesn't know if the brown lenses actually made a difference or if it just made her feel better, and he almost didn't care. His mother rarely acknowledged it openly, only reminding him to be careful, to put in his contacts, pull down his hood, to look away, to look away unless she needed to wield it. Not that he was good at controlling it. She said ‘gifts from HaShem are often burdensome, so much they can be a curse,’ she was tangling her fingers through his curls when she said that. Her hands were always chapped and cracked, covered in calluses yet soft in quiet moments. She often played with his hair, especially while she sang to him, massaging his scalp gently. He felt like a boat on quiet waters in those moments, isolated in the most peaceful way, as if their lives weren't what they were, his eyes closed by choice rather than need.</p><p>Nathaniel hated how vulnerable yet dangerous the curse made him. Often staked between the choices of hurting someone by looking at them or leaving himself vulnerable and shutting his eyes. He knew his anger was a switch that could make a healthy man bend over, broken. Nathaniel’s first memories are of sitting in the garden, watching the flowers dry and bees drop from the air. He remembers the day he heard rustling in the bushes, and found a rabbit who grew still at his glance, and when he went to pet the soft fur, it fell over limp and cold.  </p><p>A consequential truth of the curse is that a Wesninski cannot be happy: anything he loved, touched, or cared about would be destroyed or taken away in the worst of ways, by the presence of his own gaze. His mom once told him about how love is the worst way it hurt somebody. Anyone he was around enough to care about, the curse is guaranteed to force them away, even his mom. He is radioactive and she was getting poisoned. Nathaniel doesn’t often wonder if his mom loves him, but in that moment he did. Maybe she was beginning to and that's why she's gone now. Or maybe he loved her too much. He doesn’t love his father, and doubted his father loved him or his mom. He definitely doesn’t love his old foster mother or her weird son. </p><p>Nathaniel moves his head a bit on the cot, and immediately regrets it. The mat smells like sour milk and bile, and he quickly moves his nose away again, feeling the cot creak under him. </p><p>His social worker had been excited. Apparently the last boy loved it there but his real family was found and he was transferred to them instead. Nathaniel could sense the mother still mourning the last boy’s absence. She was loud and friendly, the opposite of her husband. His ex-foster father was a quiet man, watching TV in his La-Z-Boy chair on the weekends. The Man’s presence was like a house cat compared to his real father, who was a coiled snake. He was a small man, almost a shadow in the house, and claimed once he wasn’t one much for fatherhood, him being the foster-brothers step-dad, and believed in a more ‘hands-off approach’ to parenting and left Nathaniel to his own devices. He didn’t like the son though. He was too nice, always trying too hard to win Nathaniel over. He seemed restless, always wanting to play video games or something. And one time he had this tickling game that Nathaniel didn’t like. Nathaniel asked him to stop, and he didn’t, Nathaniel forced him to, first with a sharp punch that split the skin on his knuckle. After that Nathaniel just needed the weight of his eyes to make the older boy fall to his knees, and soon the older boy was gagging on a bloody nose, spit thickly choking him as he tried to swallow the blood, and Nathaniel was shipped off here.</p><p>Nathaniel got lucky his sentence ended up as light as it is, the blood wiped away revealing nothing besides the damage done by Nathaniel’s single punch. His own fist fairing worse than his ex-foster brother's face. There was little evidence that Nathaniel had done anything at all, but he still ended up sitting in that courtroom being told to plead guilty. </p><p>“Better make a decision fast. Camp Green Lake doesn't hold vacancies for long,” the judge had said. Nathaniel thought the camp sounded like the safer bet, and instead fell right into a bear trap.</p><p>His scab where he’d cut his fist on his ex-foster brother Drake's tooth still hasn't healed, fairing poorly from Nathaniel’s constant inspections of the wound. It looks nasty and swollen, steadily growing sicker with one knuckle tender to the touch and another smells bad and is sticky with infection.</p><p>Nathaniel resists the urge to keep picking at the wound, shoving his hands under his head. He sleeps fitfully, with the hum of memories in his chest.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW for: canon typical descriptions of past trauma, mentions of blood, foster home bulling, canon typical mob violence and murder, mentions of drunk driving, infected scab, non-consensual tickling, and implied attempted grooming even if the character didn't notice.<br/>its honestly not as bad as canon, but these things are mentioned, if you need more detail, or would like me to add something to the list, feel free to DM me @i-did on Tumblr.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. time flies but leaves its shadow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nathaniel has his first day digging holes.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW at end notes</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It feels like the moment his eyes close he's waking up again, like a startling time jump. Bright  light burns through his eyelids, red with thin veins like tree roots. He opens his eyes, and a kick to his cot has him sitting up quickly. Nathaniel feels the dirt that built up in the corners of his eyes overnight tear at his eyelids as he opens them. He scrapes at the crust with his nails harshly, confused and a little afraid as he still only sees bright light and shadow spots in his eyes. It takes him longer than he would've liked to control his expression and look around, his eyes adjusting and letting him see Plank carrying a heavy flashlight that floods the dark tent with cool white light. Plank continues to make sure every camper is up and standing beside their cots before moving onto the next tent. No one tries to sleep in, the others have been at Green Lake too long and know better than to try. The campers stretch and shuffle around softly, the tent heavy with grogginess. Nathaniel stares at the floorboards, where he can feel thumping footsteps on the presswood floorboards through the soles of his shoes.</p><p>Sleeping in his shoes is a habit from being on the run, and he hopes the others don’t notice. He’s also much sweatier than the others: everyone else besides one of the twins—Andrew he thinks—chose to sleep in their undershirts and boxers. Nathaniel doesn’t mind the extra physical discomfort in exchange for peace of mind. His collection of scars has already grown past what can be hidden behind underclothes, peeking out from under his long-sleeves and pant legs. The scarification Lola and his father are responsible for aside, his elbows, knees, and palms of his hands have been scraped raw too many times, constant harsh falls and quick escapes leaving him with patches that are shiny and dark with scar tissue. And although Nathaniel doesn’t move in his sleep anymore, he can’t risk his jumpsuit collar falling too low, choosing instead to button it high despite the uncomfortable way it almost chokes him.  </p><p>Yet Nathaniel has never fallen asleep in a new location as easily as he did last night: he doesn’t even remember his eyes closing. It’s concerning since he was only tired last night, not exhausted. Sleep had possessed him suddenly and without a trace of dreams. However he still has the nagging feeling of a forgotten memory pressing into the back of his eyes. He tries to rub it away like he did the crust and dirt, letting the confusion and tiredness in his body distract him instead.</p><p>He blinks forcefully, waiting for the rest of the flashlight burn spots to leave his vision while he takes a swig of water. His mouth tastes expired from sleep, and the filtered water doesn't do much to get rid of the taste. He assumes they aren't allowed to have a lot of time to get ready and begins to move with purpose. Everyone paces around with militant swiftness, orbiting each other and avoiding collision as they go about their routines. </p><p>Unlike the relaxed conversations at dinner, breakfast is quick and quiet. No one speaks, as no one needs to speak: there is nothing to say. The food isn't bad by Nathaniel's standards. He knows the corn flakes taste like the cardboard boxes they were stored in, but he’s been in survival mode too long, and he savors eating it with milk instead of water. Nathaniel watches his flakes turn mushy before finishing it, lifting the bowl to his mouth to drink. He likes the orange juice the most: every camper gets a mini carton each and he savors the tart flavor, enjoying the waxed little cardboard box like a treat, studying the printed design on the carton's side closely. His mom would sometimes get him orange juice when she couldn't get fresh fruit. Nathaniel didn’t think he was a picky eater, but he got tired of canned fruit quickly. The sugary syrup after one too many dole cups made him carsick once, and now even looking at the little red cherries make him nauseous.</p><p>Nathaniel nervously refills his canteen every chance he gets before getting in line for his shovel with the others. They’re all locked up in a shed near the showers, and the long line of waiting teenagers makes it easy to figure out where to go. Each shovel is five feet long with a steel tip and a wooden handle. Nathaniels eyes track where the handle has been worn smooth from previous hands, dirt polished into its grooves. </p><p>The first rule of digging is that each hole has to be five feet deep and five feet wide, all around, the shovel working as his measuring stick. Kevin says he staked ownership on a ‘special shovel,’ claiming that no one else is allowed to use it. He says it’s shorter than the others, but if it is, it’s probably by less than an inch. So naturally, Seth tries to get in line before Kevin to grab it just to spite him. </p><p>The second rule of digging is that if Nathaniel finds anything interesting or unusual, he is to report it to either Counselor Plank or Mr. Malcolm when they come by with the water truck. And if the Warden likes what he finds, then he gets the rest of the day off. </p><p>“What should we be looking for?” Nathaniel asks him. </p><p>“Nothing. You're not supposed to be looking for anything. You’re out here digging to build character. It’s just if you find anything, the Warden would like to know about it,” Plank stares at Nathaniel a minute longer, to make sure he understands, before moving on.</p><p>The campers are all marched out across the dry lake. Each group assigned a different area, spread far apart. The ground reminds Nathaniel of lotus seed pods with its holes gathered in bunches, all the same size and distance apart scattered across the ground in methodical hives.</p><p>The sun hasn't risen yet, the sky still black, but the moon and the stars are the brightest he has ever seen before. His mom fears the danger of remoteness, but in this moment, Nathaniel lets himself appreciate the beauty in a clear night sky. Looking around, it almost looks like they were on the surface of the moon, the nighttime sky making the dirt look silver.</p><p>Nathaniel looks back at the ground beneath his feet, feeling the weight of the shovel in his hands, feeling the weight shift as he lifts his arms and stabs the dirt. The spade of the shovel bounces off the dehydrated earth without making a dent. The vibrations running up the shaft of the handle and into his wrists and elbows. It feels like trying to dig into ice, dense and unyielding. Nathaniel tries again with the shovel, bringing it higher above his head and cracking down into the ground. His hands slip a bit on the handle of his shovel, stinging his palms, but still he hasn't made a crack in the earth. </p><p>Nathaniel isn’t weak for his age. He actually has strong legs and lungs, he’s good at running not only fast, but far, and his arms aren’t half bad either. He doesn’t play any sports but he still has some muscle from carrying his whole life in one bag on his back. But he isn't this type of strong, he doesn't have the right type of strength for this type of labor. The repeated movements of digging a big hole is foreign to his body, but he will have to get used to it.</p><p>He glances around his group and spots Andrew–Aaron is wearing a different hat and has pushed up his sleeves–who scoops out a shovel full of dirt and dumps it into a pile that is already about a foot tall. Nathaniel watches how someone close to his height makes it work. Andrew seems to use momentum, arm strength and his body weight, to bluntly force his way into the dirt. Nathaniel looks at his own comparatively skinny body and arms and looks back at the undug earth. </p><p>Nathaniel squats low, looking for any faults in the sediment. Finding one, he places the shovelhead of the shovel along the hairline crack, and with all his weight jumps down on the back of the blade with both feet. The shovel sinks an inch into the packed dirt. It isn’t much, but it’s a start. He wiggles the handle and lifts up his first shovel of dirt before placing the spade back into the crack, and doing it all over again. </p><p>After several more shovel fulls, he notices he’s dumping his dirt within the perimeter of his future hole. Nathaniel decides to lay his shovel flat, mentally marking a slightly new path–so he won't constantly have to shift his dirt pile over–and begins to find a new fault in the earth and start over. </p><p>Looking at it, he fully realises how wide five feet is going to be. But the digging was getting easier. After Nathaniel finishes digging through the first foot, where the sun has baked the earth into a hard crust, the dirt underneath reveals itself to be looser and easier to break with his shovel. By the time Nathaniel breaks the crust however, blisters have both formed and popped in the middle of his right thumb and the base of his middle finger, and more are beginning to form at the top of his palms. Ignoring the sting, he squeezes the handle tighter, unwilling to let it slow him down.</p><p>Despite the digging, he feels restless. Nathaniel can’t remember a time in his life when he hadn't felt itchy with the need to move. His mother used to send him on runs around the block, casing the area and taking mental notes on the locations of bus stops and shelters, looking for anything that could be useful to them, before heading back and telling her what he found. His restlessness always seems to be in his legs, always itching to bounce unless exhausted from use.</p><p>But here, his mind wanders. The monotonous act of digging isn't enough to keep him grounded like running is. There isn't anything for him to look for or focus on, and the temperature is already rising despite the still sunless morning sky. He lets himself look across the desert, the way the land was sloped and cut by years of erosure before it all dried. And despite how different it must have looked with water, he can almost imagine it: standing at the bottom of a dark lake with sandy floors and cool water, so cold he feels stiff and so deep the pressure from the water pressed around his head, squeezing away the pain in his head. Nathaniel continued digging, thinking of the ghosts of fish and life instead of the pounding in his skull. He rubs his left eye, hoping to rub out the blotch in his vision but instead rubs salty sweat and dirt into his eye making it sting. He ignores it and continues to dig. He lets himself see visions of rushing water and small houses sitting next to lakes.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Hagara listened to the water lapping at the bank and smoothed down the front of her apron. She didn't care about it being wrinkled but she felt like she needed something to do with her hands. The taxes had been raised again and her father was still sick, and she thought housekeeping was better than farm work so she took the job despite the town's whispers. </p><p>The house wasn't much: it was more than her own but that was to be expected. It was considerably modest for someone hiring help, and the pay was more generous than much nicer estates even dared to give. As far as supposedly haunted houses go, it seemed quite quaint and tame compared to her eleven year old imagination.</p><p>The master of the house had told her she would be working by herself since he hadn't hired anyone else, and if she needed anything to not be afraid to ask, but to always be sure to knock in order to announce her presence. </p><p>He seemed nice despite being odd, he wore a thin strip of cheesecloth over his eyes and gave her the tour by tracing his hand along the walls. He had claimed to have terrible migraines, him and his son, and the cloth helped them manage the episodes. She watched his back through the tour, his steps an even beat echoing inside a silent house. One door had a light coming from the crack beneath the door, but he had walked on by as if it didn't exist at all. She looked at the marks from where his hands must have rubbed against the walls thousands of times, his habits embedding themselves into the wood. </p><p>He hesitated by the back door, Hagara wondered if it was his head and if she was supposed to do something, but he breathed out and opened the door, the house much brighter from the sunlight. They stepped into a small garden where they walked until the man plots himself down, sitting directly onto the earth, he lifted his hand and gestured at a space text to him, “Please, feel free to sit.”</p><p>She knew this was unorthodox, but sat where he gestured anyway. He was turned slightly away from her, cloth still covering his eyes, “I mean no offense to you when I say I was hoping you would be older,” </p><p>“Master Wesninski–” she started.</p><p>“Please, no need for formalities,” he responded gently. “Call me by my first name: Nethinim.”</p><p>He paused, waiting for her to continue, while he idly picked up a leaf blindly and fiddled with it like a child. When she remained silent he spoke again, “I have a son, and he is your age. We just lost our mother you see, and while I wasn’t looking to replace her, I was hoping for someone who could be more maternal for him.”</p><p>She felt the urge to argue her position, to fight for the job without being rude and being fired for it, but she had already interrupted once, and decided it wasn't a good idea to do it again. He continued with a smile in his voice, “But a friend is just as important. Besides, you were the only one brave enough to apply.”</p><p>She recognized his name to be Hebrew like her own and wondered if that was the true reason behind the rumors. Many of the townspeople spoke of how this small unassuming house was cursed, but now the rumors of said ‘devils’ living here made her face hot with anger. </p><p>“I am very blessed,” he said. “This house has such a beautiful view, right off of the banks of Vistula.” </p><p>His words drew back her attention and she looked out across the land, listening to the breeze blow against her in ripples like water. His smile was calm, still gently pressed into the side of his cheek, she couldn't see his eyes but she knew they were crinkled with sadness. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel is still digging, his arms are sore and his mouth feels thick with thirst. His hole is about three feet deep, but only in the center, with the sides sloping up. He has a lot farther to go and the sun is just beginning to rise, the early morning rays beginning to burn off the relative coolness of the night. He feels the beginnings of sweat in his armpits, and the sleeves of his jumpsuit start to chafe with every movement.  </p><p>He reaches down for his canteen when suddenly his vision swims with blackspots like minnows in a lake. Nathaniel almost falls forward before catching himself, and braces his arms on his knees. He holds himself still, swallowing his nausea back thickly while waiting for the moment to pass. He imagines working on an empty stomach is even harder and wouldn't want to waste the food he ate earlier or have to dig out the puke out of his own pile. He stands up slower this time, feeling safe enough to open his mouth and drink. The canteen is getting light, and he looks inside to see the last few drops of water, barely more than a tablespoon.</p><p>He flexes his hands, feeling the stiffness in the joints of his knuckles and the skin stretch uncomfortably around his numerous blisters. They line his fingers and the tops of his palms, the skin at the valley between his pointer and thumb looking ready to bleed. He has no water to spare for rinsing his hands, deciding his dehydration was a much bigger risk than infection.</p><p>The other campers in his group are a lot farther along in digging than he is, their own dirt piles higher than his own and bodies less visible as they get deeper into the ground. </p><p>The other campers begin to look up at something past Nathaniel and he turns his head to follow their collective gaze. A stream of dust cuts across the desert, after a minute or two Nathaniel can make out a truck heading in their direction, creating the clouds behind it, mapping out the locations of the other groups of boys. As the rusted out truck approaches, Nathaniel wishes he had dug his hole faster so he would have somewhere to duck inside without suspicion. He settles for crouching, as if he was resting while having his legs tense and ready to spring forward if needed. </p><p>Nathaniel startles, seeing Andrew walk past him and towards the truck. He turns to look behind him and watches the other boys of the group jump out of their holes and line up, waiting. The truck pulls to the edge of where the boys gather, slowing to a stop. The truck bed has large coolers of water and the sight of the sloshing water makes Nathaniel notice how his spit felt thick and gummy in his mouth. He tries to swallow around his dry throat and goes to stand with the others, the line roughly ordered by age with the older kids in the front and the younger in the back. Group D must get water second to last, but Nathaniel doest care, he’s just glad to not be in group F, even if he waits last in line.</p><p>Romero steps out of the truck, making it tilt with his weight as he holds onto the frame, before letting it go and making the whole thing shake. He has a fist full of sunflower seeds and seems to be in no hurry to give the campers their much needed water. His eyes scan across the line of them. Romero’s wearing sunglasses but Nathaniel can still feel his stare, and Nathaniel’s skin itches from his gaze.</p><p>Romero walks over to the water jugs, his whole body relaxed with indifference as he opens his hand, waiting for Seth to hand his empty canteen over. Seth hands it over quickly, closely watching the bottle be filled before Romero hands it back, jerking his head in a motion telling Seth to get out of the line before grabbing Matt’s bottle next. Nicky hangs towards the back, closer to his cousins but still in front of them, seemingly too tired to try to talk to Kevin who’s in front of him.</p><p>Nathaniel stares at the back of Andrew’s sunburned neck, his body tense as if he is guarding the back of the line. Andrew turns to look at Nathaniel in the eyes, his gaze blank and empty, before he turns back around and hands his canteen to Romero.</p><p>By the time it was Nathaniel’s turn, Romero seemed ready to get out of the sun, switching off between fanning himself with his hat or using it for shade. He wipes the sweat off of his brow before grabbing Nathaniel's empty canteen and says something Nathaniel doesn’t hear.</p><p>Going for a neutral response, Nathaniel lifts one shoulder and lowers it, in a tired shrug. </p><p>As Nathaniel walks back to his hole, he can feel Romero following him closely behind. Romero looks at the three foot hole and shakes his head and says, “You better get faster, otherwise you’re going to be digging during the hottest part of the day.” He looks at Nathaniel with a mean smile and pops some sunflower seeds into his mouth. Romero chews on them for a minute while studying Nathaniel, shucking the seeds with his teeth before spitting them out at the bottom of Nathaniel’s hole.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Natanael was Hagara’s age and worked just as hard, having already spent a year helping his father take care of the house duties before she had been hired. He had hid from her for a while after their first meeting, but a month of him showing her the ropes and splitting chores had broken his shy streak. The only time they didn’t work together is when Natanael got his headaches. He would be holed up in his dark room and wouldn’t come out. The only other time they didn’t work together was when she needed to go into town. The Wesninskis never left their property, so it was her responsibility to sell the eggs and do the shopping. The townspeople treated them like the plague and anything dropped off at the port was quickly abandoned by those who left it there, unwilling to spend too much time near the home out of fear of meeting the occupants. </p><p>Natanael was dancing in the garden, grabbing Hagara by the hands and spinning her around, the soil below his shoes slowly digging a hole from his treading feet. She didn’t remember ever having fun like this, laughing so hard she felt her stomach cramp and her face ache. Today was a good day, they were waiting for the laundry to dry and the sun felt warm on her skin. There was something about the Wesninskis that could make her feel like she could fly. </p><p>Her mother had become a shell of a woman after her father passed, and the two of them had grown distant while Hagara continued to live her life. Nethinim had found her crying in the barn after the interment and prepared Seudat Havraah–The Condolence Meal. Food in her life had always had the sole purpose of making people feel full, but as her teeth sunk into bread rolls and boiled eggs she felt comforted too. </p><p>Later, after she had returned from her mourning observances, Nethinim had given her a leather-bound journal. She flipped through the pages, noticing how it already had paragraphs inside of it along with dates. He told her how he used to write often, to record his thoughts and observances, but he didn’t need it anymore. He reached up as if to touch his cloth-covered eyes, before lowering his hand again. He told her to continue it for him, make use of the journal and write about things that felt important, no matter how big or small. </p><p>Today was one of those days, nothing grandiose was happening, but her almost tangible joy in this moment, her and Natanael spinning in the sun, felt like the most important thing to remember.  She saved the pages like gold, wanting this journal to last as long as possible, savoring the blank spaces with everything that could be written in them. But the sound of Natanael’s laugh and the way the grass made her ankles itch, she wanted to write and to be able to read it later and live it again and again. Writing was like magic.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Nathaniel’s blisters have all ripped off, leaving circles of tender pink skin that is beginning to bleed. The blisters continue to form, as if he is being burned. The sweat stinging his open wounds bothers him more than the heat at this point, and he decides to take off his hat and begins to use it as a buffer between his skin and the shovel handle. The stiff cloth helps with the pain, but his grip continuously slips. He is uncaring of the blood getting on his hat, but notes instead the sun on the back of his sweaty neck. </p><p>He’s been out here too long. He can feel a rawness developing under his skin, and soon he will begin to burn, his skin creeping past its threshold for sun. Nathaniel doesn’t burn easily, hardly ever, but his skin itches in an unfamiliar way. He already can see the beginnings of tan lines mapping themselves out around his wrists, and knows the rest of his exposed skin will have similar lines. His now dirty bracelet leaves an outlined stripe on his skin, paler beneath it. Some of the others have rolled up their sleeves or unbuttoned their jumpsuits to the waist, tying the long sleeves around like a belt. Only Matt, Andrew, and Nathaniel leave their sleeves down. Nathaniel is satisfied with how he doesn't stand out too much amongst Group D. </p><p>Though trying to convince himself otherwise, Nathaniel’s been aware for a while that his piles of dirt are too close to the parameter of his hole. The piles are outside his fife-foot measured circle, but he could still see he was going to run out of room. The compact dirt expands as he digs it out, and the piles are a lot larger than his hole is deep. They surround him like a wall, deceiving Nathaniel from being able to tell his actual depth he's dug from ground level. His pit isn’t as deep as the others and Nathaniel feels himself beginning to slow down, and decides to bite the bullet before the sun gets any higher. </p><p>Nathaniel climbs out of the hole, and once again sinks his shovel into the loose previously dug dirt. Sweat from his brow drips into his eye, the sharp sting a distraction from his throbbing hands. He can feel his heartbeat in them, the constant pumping rhythm something to keep time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Natanael looked just like his father. They had the same dimples in the corners of their cheeks when they smiled and had freckles dotting their whole bodies. The two of them also never looked at Hagara in the eyes, Nethinim’s covered with cloth and Natanael’s always shifting or fiddling with the straw bracelet his father had given him. She had only seen Natanael’s eyes in glances: a blue darker than the sea and brighter than the sky, and she thought it was beautiful. Hagara found herself studying the outline of his strong nose and dark hair a lot these days. She liked how different he looked than all the gentile Polish men in town, who whistled and sneered at her after she had turned fifteen, but Natanael never looked at her like that, he never looked at her at all.</p><p>Hagara knew the Wesninskis didn’t tell her everything. When she first arrived at their house she believed the townspeople's chilly treatment was similar to what she received, only lighter because she was a young girl. But several years of hearing harsh whispers and studying the previous entries of the journal Nethinim had given her, she knew it was more than that.</p><p>Hagara remembered when she finally read it, the last entry written so lightly, as if had been indented with no ink.</p><p>
  <em> “We thought it was broken, we thought it was cured, I’m sorry my love, I'm sorry I looked at you, your face is the only thing I see now.” </em>
</p><p>She watches Natanael now, his legs crossed as he lays on his stomach in the soil, uncaring about dirtying his clothes as he runs his hands through the grass, his eyes closed peacefully.  She walked towards him, seeing his head tilt and small smile formed at the corner of his lips as he listened to her approach. The fact that he recognized her even with his eyes closed was simple and yet beautiful to Hagara. </p><p>She plucked a blade of grass, fiddling with it and mindlessly tying it into knots just to have something to do with her hands. Hagara didn’t believe in beating around the bush, but she didn’t even know what questions to ask. She dropped the grass, dropped the pretense of idleness and spoke, “Will you ever show me?”</p><p>His legs stopped their gentle sway, his mouth gently flattening with a tone of seriousness but not saddened. “I was wondering when you were going to say something.”</p><p>Silence lapped at the air like the water at the banks of the Vistula, peaceful, but with a destination in mind. She waited for him to speak.</p><p>“Would you like to see now? It’s okay if you want to wait,” he said, knowing that she wouldn’t. </p><p>She nodded her head sternly, knowing he couldn’t see it, knowing that he already knew her answer. She wanted to place her hand on his arm, as if to comfort him, but decided against it. </p><p>He opened his eyes, and they’re as beautiful as they always are. He still wasn’t looking at her, but rather the flower beds in front of them. His eyes looked both glossed over yet clear as he studied the flowers, which began to rustle gently as if a slight breeze was toustling them. She watched closely feeling Natanael tense beside her. The flowers were withering now, as if in pain, shriveling dry and curling tightly, trying to protect themselves from death. They looked like they were burning in an invisible fire.</p><p>Natanael sharply winced, as if his migraine was beginning, and suddenly large swathes of flowers die instantly, dry as bone, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He covered his eyes with his fingers pressed tightly, as if he was afraid his eyes would fall out if he moved his hands, and asked, “Are you okay?”</p><p>Hagara looked at Natanael, unsure if he was tense from fear or pain, and responded, “Yes, are you?”</p><p>His shoulders relaxed a bit at the sound of her voice, and said, “Yes,” while he began unwrapping the cheesecloth he had tied around his wrist, preparing to tie it over his eyes. </p><p>“Will you lead me inside?” he asked, but she was already helping him stand, and began walking him back inside. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>His hair is so hot from the sun, it feels like it’s burning. He rakes his fingers through it, hoping to relieve himself from the heat seeping through the strands and into his scalp. Instead, the hair burns his fingers to the touch, and he wipes his forehead, uncaring of the muddy sweat building into a crust on his face. </p><p>Nathaniel spots the truck before the others this time, watching the tell-tale cloud make its way towards their group. Romero isn’t here, and instead Plank jumps out of the driver side door, and quickly tosses sack lunches at everyone to catch. Plank mostly misses, ignoring how the bags land in dirt piles or in someone else's hole. Andrew doesn’t even try to catch his, and boredly watches it hit the ground, the bag breaking open to spill it’s contents while Kevin scrambles to try and catch his own. Despite them being further away than Kevin, Matt and Seth catch their lunches much more seamlessly, not willing to dive for it but prepared to catch it nonetheless. Nathaniel’s arms are so tired from digging that his reflexes betray him, lagging unexpectedly. He doesn’t catch his lunch in time and something hard hits his nose before he grabs the bag while it falls. </p><p>Nathaniel hadn't even noticed his hunger, but he definitely noticed his thirst. Nathaniel claws his way out from the bottom of the pit, the others already lined up by the truck for refills from the water tank. Nathaniel is last and at Andrew’s back again. </p><p>The smell of body odor hangs in the air with no breeze to carry it away, the older boys smelling sharper. The smell doesn’t affect Nathaniel's hunger, and he opens the brown paper bag. Inside he sees a tortilla with peanut butter and jelly smeared on it and a red apple with bruising that probably matches his own sore nose. Matt walks up with a faux-indifferent Seth standing behind him. </p><p>“Hey, how’re you holding up?” Matt asks.</p><p>“I’m doing fine,” Nathaniel answers. </p><p>Matt looks behind him and says something to Seth. Nathaniel assumes he missed whatever Seth said in response, but doesn’t really care. </p><p>Seth walks closer, and says “First hole’s the hardest.”</p><p>Nathaniel looks around at the others, seeing their progress and comparing it to his own. He was the furthest behind and didn’t have time to waste. Nathaniel briefly considered giving up, but he knew that was never an option for him. If he was a regular kid, he wonders what they would do if he just chose to quit, but Nathaniel isn’t a regular kid and could make an easy guess as to what they would do to him if he ever tried anything. </p><p>The sun kept getting hotter, and it wasn’t even noon yet. His clothes are soaked with sweat and chafed uncomfortably. The others were covered in mud and crusted dirt. Despite all his sweating, Nathaniel has to pee and asks, “Where are we supposed to go to the bathroom?”</p><p>At this Seth smiles and spreads his arms wide, “Pick a hole, any hole.” He lowers his arms. “But first make sure nothing’s living in it.” </p><p>Matt says something, but Nathaniel misses it and hates asking people to repeat themselves. He chooses to ignore it and instead focuses his attention across the lake, looking for a good spot to go, and begins to walk.</p><p>Nathaniel finds another cluster of holes, checking these ones the way he checked the last. Seth was right to warn him, many of the holes have scorpions and even a few snakes hiding out in the bottom, and the ones that didn't were usually right next to ones that did. Nathaniel didn't want to pull himself out of his jumpsuit only for a rattlesnake he didn't hear to come up and bite him while he was mid stream. Nathaniel knows there are worse ways to die, and he probably will experience them rather soon, but if he can avoid death by rattlesnake with his dick out and the others to find him, he will. </p><p>He finally finds a cluster where he feels as safe as he can while peeing out in the open, and begins to unzip. He always hated peeing in public, even if it’s an empty freeway at 3am, an abandoned cornfield, or a desert in the middle of nowhere. Nathaniel doesn't understand how other guys can pull it out casually, even at urinals. Pissing in public always makes him feel extra vulnerable, and while he pretends what Seth said doesn't bother him, he can feel the fear of something coming out and biting him, making him unable to actually go. He has to force himself to relax and breathe deep. Nathaniel’s so dehydrated despite all the water he's been drinking, that as he finally pees it burns a little. He shakes himself off and tucks himself back in his pants, looking around to see if any snakes had decided to come out and get him. It was a short-lived distraction to worry about a snake. And despite how tired he is, Nathaniel knows if he doesn't pick up the pace and prove himself useful, there will be worse to come. Nathaniel rolls his shoulders loose. He is going to dig his hole, even if it's the last thing he’ll ever do.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The room was dark, Natanael’s migraine brought on by his demonstration in the garden. Hagara had made a mild broth of potato soup, the starchy water hopefully soothing despite the lack of flavor. The sound of her setting the bowl down gently made him rustle and turn over in the sheets, moving to be closer to her. Natanael had a cloth draped over his eyes, protecting the world from him rather than the other way around, like she had always believed.</p><p>“The townspeople aren’t exaggerating you know,” he said. “My family? We’re cursed… or I suppose blessed, depending on who you ask. But there is something wrong with our eyes, they always cast ayin hara. We don’t know who had it first… the eyes. We don’t know how it started. My family has been talking to Rabbis about it for generations, different blessings and amulets. One Rabbi said that Adonai must value our gaze, if it is to be trusted with such judgment. Another once theorized we are the descendants of someone who must have had such bitterness and jealousy, that all the sons born in his image will have the same eyes, through and through. And we do. We all are born sons, and we all are born with these evil eyes.”</p><p>Hagara listened to him explain the little control they had over it, how pea straw was the only thing safe to fully look at, unable to wither or dry. But on bad days, not even the straw on his wrist could be trusted to be looked at, his own gaze possibly infecting himself or even the air. And some days were simply just worse than others, where the gaze was heavier and felt like it seared through his closed eyelids and he worried the world would burn. There were patterns in bad days, the curse was like a fire that fed on negative emotions. The Wesninski men were calm—they had to be, otherwise the fire would get fanned by pain or anger.</p><p>He didn’t dwell on the pain, but she knew it was there. Hagara read it in Natanael’s own father with his scars from pressed nails and scratches, half-moon marks peaking below his cloth covering. She wonders if Nethinim’s heart is so heavy after his wife passed, that he closed his eyes and never opened them again.</p><p>Hagara didn’t believe either of the Wesninski men had a drop of evil in them, and even if they did, wasn't that what it was to be a human? To be a child with the instinct to push or hit, to want to eat more than others when hungry? Mriam believed human instinct was inherently selfish, which is why we have choice. Even animals can show mercy. However it seemed the Wesninskis had no choice, but wolves needed to eat too. She peeled back the cloth covering his face, watching his eyes dart below the lids.</p><p>Natanael was humming methodically and massaging at his temples. She had seen him do it many times, and never thought about it much before, but now she had questions and knew this was the moment to ask them. “What is the song you’re singing?” she asked.</p><p>Hagara liked the way he almost blushed, looking much like he did the day they first met, only older and much less ashamed and instead gently embarrassed. He was always singing, but while he usually makes up tunes to classic rhymes or sings his movements and actions, this song was a story. Hagara watched Natanael swallow around the emotions stuck in his throat, and waited.</p><p>“My mother used to sing… she used to sing like I do,” he said. “She had this one song that she sang for me and my father. I don’t know if she wrote it but, when I was a baby she would wash me, or when I was crying because my eyes hurt or scared me, she was always there to sing it for me.” He rubbed the bracelet blindly, his eyes still closed tight. Natanael’s breaths were shaky from emotion. “I miss that song, it always made me feel better.”</p><p>Hagara’s heart was beating in her ears, every pump so loud she swore Natanael would be able to hear it. She loosened her clenched fists and reached across for his open palm, warm as her own. Natanael squeezed her hand gently, a response to her action that made her feel both more at ease and made her blood rush at once. His own hands were as strong as her own, she squeezed back and asked, “Will you teach it to me?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The others are beginning to leave. Nathaniel noticed first when Matt walked past him, giving a tired smile as he headed back to camp, passing by Nathaniel’s spot in the ground. Seth soon follows, visibly tired and loosely dragging his shovel behind him.</p><p>It's a while before Nathaniel notices anyone else leaving, but when he looks up, he sees one of the twins jump out of his hole unexpectedly. Nathaniel watches as the other boy wipes his hands and grabs his shovel, preparing to measure. It’s Andrew, he thinks, Andrew wears the bucket hat while Aaron wears one like Nathaniel’s, But Nathaniel looks again and watches how the twin stands, his shoulders caved in slightly and sleeves pushed up. Nathaniel watches the twin bite his nails and begin to walk back to camp. Nathaniel looks over and sees Andrew, unfazed and digging one hole over, in Aaron’s spot with Aaron’s hat on. Nathaniel’s not sure if the others noticed and don't care, or don’t know at all, but he’s also not positive he’s right. Nathaniel’s about to start digging again, when he notices Nicky talking to him, Nicky’s face turns away and the words get lost to the air. Nicky seems to be laughing at his own comment, and Nathaniel doesn't have the energy to try to listen decides to try for a smile as a response. </p><p>Nathaniel’s starting to feel dread settle in, a need to be quick as he feels the sun rise and watches Nicky leave, shortly followed by a pink-faced “Aaron,” leaving just Kevin and himself last. It isn’t long until Kevin starts to leave, stopping by Nathaniel’s hole to stare him down. Nathaniel doesn’t care to hear it, choosing instead for his next shovel full of dirt to fly in Kevin’s direction. He looks up to see a middle finger disappear as Kevin storms off, and Nathaniel bites back his smile. </p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t mind being alone, but the sun is so high. Even with his hole as deep as his shoulders at the ground level, the dirt piles around the surface making it higher, the shade of being inside the hole is disappearing. He’s baking under his clothes and decides to put his hat back on, ignoring how it’s stained with blood. Nathaniel thought his arms were tired before, but they’re really tired now, each shovel of dirt having to be raised over his head carefully to avoid knocking previously dug dirt back down. The piles are too close, and once again, Nathaniel realizes he’s going to have to move them. </p><p>As he continues to dig, he wonders if Romero would come looking for Nathaniel, and if he does, whether he would leave him at the bottom of the grave he dug for himself.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was Natanael who found Nethinim, outside the bounds of the garden. Natanael had mumbled about his father’s odd behavior under his breath, coming back with the eggs while Hagara was taking down the pinned clothes. They hadn't thought anything of it at first. Nethinim was known for his eccentricities, going into the garden for hours only to return talking about how he could feel the heartbeat of the earth when he touched the soil. Hagara and Natanael had been distracted, but after Natanael called him over for lunch to no response, he decided to trek his way over to where his father laid, crouched over a hand-dug hole in an oddly slumped manor.  Nethinim was cold, and bleeding from the socket of his eyes, blood dripping through the cloth. </p><p>Hagara felt it, she swears she could feel the moment Natanael realized. As if the air had shifted around her, becoming poisoned. She ran outside and held Natanael while he shook, breathing raggedly with cloying snot and tears while his sorrow choked him and she kept his head above water, her own tears smearing the world around her. Hagara hummed and rocked him as if he was a child, as if she could protect him. She watched as the sun set and all the grass, the bees, and the flowers died, and the chicken coup fell silent. </p><p>After everything that could be done was done, they decided to leave. There were no more eggs or chickens to sell, no more cows to be milked and no more plants to be watered. There were no more services to attend and there was no more reason to stay. The house and the land around it looked like a black mold spot on the surface of a map, everything dark and dead and dry. Fish had begun to wash up rotted along the shoreline and the town was restless to throw them out. Nothing was left for them, and there was no reason to stay.</p><p>Hagara was the one who started the packing, and without asking questions Natanael began to pack too. They grabbed anything of value, books, journals, clothes, and the stray family token or heirloom. Hagara knew they wouldn’t likely be able to bring much, and they left with only what they could carry. </p><p>It was silent between them, the sound of lapping water and feet walking over wooden boards, reminding Hagara of the sound of their heavy wooden front door, closing shut. She watched the dark water, remembering how dead the river had become, before closing her eyes and rubbing her face. Now wasn’t the time for that, there would never be time for that. Hagara saw a group of men gathered around a docked boat. She tugged on Natanael’s sleeve, pointing in its direction. A sign above the men read:</p><p> <span class="small">DECK-HANDS WANTED</span></p><p>
  <span class="small">FREE PASSAGE TO AMERICA</span>
</p><p>Neither had any sailing experience, but Natanael was a strong young man and gained access easily. Hagara on the other hand had to show her own rough hands, promising her strength and usefulness. The captain obliged, under the condition she helped cook, serve, and clean, stating that the vessel would need a woman’s touch anyways. Hagara swallowed her fear about getting on the boat, her legs felt unsteady under the sway of water. She held onto Natanael’s arm and looked at the planes of his face. His eyes were closed, as they often were, and she wondered if the two of them would ever make it to America. Hagara knew her voice was stilted with her smothered fear, but nonetheless, she hummed the two of them to sleep. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The spit in Nathaniel’s mouth had turned thick hours ago, and now it’s foamy, making him have to spit often. But it doesn’t matter, Nathaniel is done, he has finished. The hole is as deep as his shovel, and as he lays it down sideways at the bottom to check the width, Nathaniel only has to break off a few chunks. He lies at the bottom of the hole, flat on his back, and looking at the sky. It looks like all there is of the world is orange sediment walls and a jagged circle of blue, the sun in the center watching him. Nathaniel is tired and thirsty and bleeding, but he is finished. </p><p>Nathaniel claws his way out, his hands stiff at the joints, but as he sinks his nails and hands bare into the walls, it feels like relief.  He pushes his way out from the little notches he made, and watches the water truck approach him. Nathaniel can hardly feel the vibrations of the truck through the dirt, he can hardly feel anything at all. He tries to rub his bloody dirty hands off on his jumpsuit, but it doesn't really work and he decides to ignore it for now, uncaring about the orange smudges he will leave on anything he touches. </p><p>The truck pulls right up to the edge of a couple of holes, with Plank in the driver's seat alone. Plank smiles and says something, but he's too far away and Nataniel doesn't care that he misses it, his head feels foggy and his eyes begin to unfocus slightly while watching Plank’s lips move. He feels his attention snap back into focus only in time to understand Plank say: “I was afraid you fainted. You wouldn't have been the first.”</p><p>Nathaniel ignores the fuzziness in his vision, ignoring the impulse to rub clarity back into his mind. “I’m finished,” is all he manages to say. </p><p>Plank continues to talk, and Nathaniel watches him gesture at the seat next to him in the truck. Nathaniel feels himself shake his head no, not wanting to be in such close proximity to Plank in a closed space. His eyes refuse to focus and the world feels fuzzy and hot, and watches Plank drive away. Nathaniel begins to walk back, shovel in one hand, and empty water bottle in the other. His head feels so light that for once Nathaniel doesn’t feel a headache at all. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Hagara began to hum the tune under her breath continuously. She wasn’t one for singing like Natanael was, but almost teasingly, she would hum the tune while she did the dishes, the laundry, the cooking, whatever needed to be done, whenever he was within earshot. Hagara ignored the ache in the pit of her stomach. It was a painful sharp thing, that she hid with her hums. She loved Natanael, but she had underestimated the strength of the curse, the power, and justified her humming as a way to placate his headaches as well as smooth over her own nerves. Hagara singing wasn’t the only thing that had changed. Natanael still never looked at her, but he began to reach out for her instead, a palm turned up open in offering, or when they passed by he would gently put his hand on her arm, in reassurance. The boat rocked beneath them and their hands stayed rough and strong from work. The touch was welcome, it was nice to know that although she fell in love with a time-bomb, he loved her back.</p><p>Hagara smelled the city and the sea, mixing together unpleasantly while they waited at the docks. Her legs felt weak on stable land, and the other deck-hands seemed to sway as well, bodies low with legs prepared to sway with an unmoving land. Natanael looked nervous, eyes darting around the long line of Ellis Island, as they waited for entry. Hagara had never seen so many people before, and clearly never had he. He fiddled with his bracelet so much she worried about it snapping. They waited and waited and waited, carrying everything they own in just a few trunks. The men who inspected them were rude, impatient with language barriers, and at the end of it, their papers said “<span class="small">HARRIET &amp; NATHANIEL WESNINSKI</span>. <span class="small">RELATION: MARRIED</span>.” They had laughed at the papers, deciding to ignore their newfound marital status and instead focused on how Hagara’s birthday mixed with Natanaels, him now marked as a few months older than her. </p><p>Names were important, they meant something, and were often a legacy, a gift. But sometimes they were taken from you, or left behind. Hagara and Natanael were only Hagara and Natanael in private. In their new lives they were Harriet and Nathaniel. They held their true names when they spoke their mother tongue and wrote their notes and journal entries, but Natanael had his belongings leather-stamped and papers signed the way expected. They took a long time to settle in America, pushing west until they ended up in a little town, near El Paso. It was a small nice little town, with a big lake and good weather for growing crops. It was a good place to start a family. And when the time had come and her stomach began to grow, Hagara and Natanael would sing.</p><p>
  <em> “If only, if only,” the bloody hare sighs, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “The thorns of the bush were just a little bit softer.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> While the fox waits outside, hungry and lonely, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He cries to the moo–oo–oon, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “If only, if only.” </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>mentions of blisters and blood, feeling dehydrated, bathroom anxiety, lizards and snakes, antisemitism, blood again, and death of family members. if you need any more details or want me to edit and add to the list, HMU @i-did on tumblr or message me on here.<br/>shout out to those who get the title easter egg<br/><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8CJ67jZ1yyc">Also here's Bernie Sanders dad, a Polish Jewish story (5 min &amp;CC)</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. misery loves company</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Carmelita watches the desert life.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: description of poisonous lizards</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Carmelita was thirsty, she was always thirsty, and her throat was raw. She wanted to cry, she needed to cry, but she couldn't. All she could do was choke. She hated it here, but she was still looking for him. She looked for him in everyone's face. Sometimes, it seemed that someone would notice her, but they never stayed. They always looked away, everyone looked away. The only ones who ever stared back were the yellow-spotted lizards. </p><p>She used to not believe in yellow-spotted lizards. A lot of people don’t believe in yellow-spotted lizards, but if one bites you, it doesn't make a difference whether you believe in it or not. Something will continue to exist, with or without permission through belief. </p><p>She looked at one of the yellow-spotted lizards dart around on its belly now, watching it without fear. The least noticeable thing about yellow-spotted lizards were their yellow spots. She had counted them before, and every time there were twenty small yellow spots on each side of its spine with forty in all, blending in with its yellow-green body. She remembers people gasping at how big they were, but she has had plenty of time watching them, always six to ten inches long. And their eyes were yellow, it is the skin around the eyes which is red, but everyone always speaks of their red eyes. Personally, she was scared of their mouths the most, with their black teeth and white tongue, she tensed every time she watched one hiss. She thought it should have been named the “black-toothed” lizard, or the “white-tongued” lizard, or even the “red-eyed” lizard. Anyone close enough to see the yellow spots was probably dead. </p><p>She watched the lizard skitter to the edge of a hole before climbing down. She'd seen up to twenty lizards live in one hole. They seemed to like holes which offered shade and a hiding place from birds. She watched it climb the walls quickly—the lizards always moved only one of two paces: lethal and quick, or not at all. She’s seen them jump too, flying for several feet to attack their prey. She watched them eat small animals, insects, cactus thorns, and sometimes the shells of sunflower seeds.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>post this with the warning/footnote:</p><p>hey, I got really sick (not covid, I'm chronically ill so I'm technically always sick) and now owe my boss 29 hours on top of my usual hours, and unfortunately owe 150 dollars rn to the city (fuck cops lmao 2 tickets??? on the same GD car??) so the next chapter might be late. Sorry this one isn't that long, and I'm grateful to all you readers, but my physical health and job/finances will come before this since it's just a hobby. DW I'm definitely not giving up or abandoning it tho.</p><p>the polish story I based Neils family curse on:<br/><a href="https://thebookshelf2015.blogspot.com/2018/06/the-polish-tale-of-evil-eye-by-john-t.html">one</a><br/><a href="https://products.kitsapsun.com/archive/1999/10-31/0061_tell_me_a_story__the_evil_eye__a_.html">two</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. playtime's over</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Andrew and his free time.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ask to tag, (comments, or DM on tumblr @i-did)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andrew’s arms and back are stiff, but it's no longer painfully sore like it used to be when he first arrived at Camp Green Lake, now it is a familiar ache. He ignores his itchy skin and watches the other boys going in and out of the bathroom. He's used to watching them by now, timing the gaps between the faster diggers and the slower ones. It usually happens in waves and tracking the patterns has become easier over the last several weeks. Andrew is suspicious of Kevin’s slowed pace, knowing he likely wanted to have another ‘discreet’ conversation with the new kid. Andrew would roll his eyes if he cared to. Instead, he watches Kevin approach the tent for his clean clothes, looking more tired than annoyed. Andrew doesn't care how Kevin knows the new kid, but he overheard Nicky when he asked and Kevin’s responding, “childhood family friend.” Andrew waits until Kevin is finished in the bathroom, knowing it will be near empty for the foreseeable future. Andrew never rinsed off after P.E. in school and at Green Lake he continued to avoid the public showers. He grabs his bar of soap, shower tokens, and spare jumpsuit roughly, before walking to the bathroom. </p><p>The showers are in the back of the bathroom coming from the entrance, but technically outside. There is no roof over the bathroom building, but the spell of a public restroom stings the air. The walls between each shower stall is raised six inches up from the ground. The tiled floor is grimy, and Andrew wouldn’t be surprised if athletes foot and plantar wart breakouts happened often. There isn't even a drain in the floor, the water instead running over the tile edges and into the dirt, drying quickly under the sun. He doesn't care, and nothing bothers him, Andrew tells himself as he clenches his jaw and rips the curtain to the side. Preparing himself with his shower tokens, making sure he gets the most out of every second of water he's allowed. The water is cold, but he doesn't let it distract him as he roughly rinses his skin in the areas that matter, careful not to get too sudsy before the water shuts off again. This shower is not the worst thing he's lived though, and it never will be. His hair is greasy, but he ignores it, choosing to wash his face instead, unwilling to do it by the sinks outside. He hears someone come into the bathroom, quiet but not unheard, and soap stings his eyes. He doesn't care, and nothing bothers him. He dries off quickly, shoving his feet inside the pant-legs of his jumpsuit and snapping the buttons back up. He keeps his pace steady, unwilling to let himself move frantically. Fingers pressed to his neck, Andrew counts the steady beats. He pulls back the curtain, dressed and ready to ignore whoever it is. Andrew is unsurprised when it's the new kid, but the new kid doesn't notice him back. Andrew watches him wash his hands meticulously, rinsing every open blister and cut, reopening sealing wounds to get at the dirt, ignoring the smudge of bloody dirt on his face. Andrew watches him like he's never watched anything before. Watching how he begins to take off his shoes, revealing more blisters from breaking in the new shoes. Watching how he begins to wash his face, and neck, before splashing his hair with water, cooling his scalp, and watching how he flicks his thick wavy hair out his eyes. Andrew watches until he sees the moment the new kid slightly stiffens his shoulders and turns, locking eyes with Andrew. He stares at Andrew who is still holding onto his dirty clothes. Andrew knows the new kid won't be able to read his face, no one ever can and Andrew doesn't even know what he would see if he dared to break eye contact and check in the mirror. The new kid turns back to the sink, but tracks Andrew through the mirror, watching Andrew leave. As Andrew walks out he thinks about the forming tanlines on the back of the boys neck, his wet hair pulled back and his eyes opening, the moment before he realized he wasn’t alone. As Andrew starts to think about the new kids brown and pink mouth, he notices an uncomfortable tight feeling in his lower gut growing past his comfortable control. He doesn’t care, and nothing bothers him. Andrew clenches his jaw again, breathing through his nose and ignoring it as he walks back to tent D. </p><p>Andrew’s shoulders are still tense, but his shoulders are always tense, and he forces himself to lower his stiff shoulders while he drops off his dirty clothes into his crate. He ignores everyone and everything as he makes his way to the rec room. Some kid had scratched the words <span class="small">WRECK ROOM</span> onto the door, which is fitting considering nearly everything in the room is broken. It reminds Andrew of a lot of the after school programs for at-risk youth he went to: an abandoned Jenga set and donated board games with torn boxes and missing pieces, nearly impossible to play, well-worn decks of cards with distinct creases on the aces and faces, broken furniture where kid after kid pulls the stuffing out, only for the hole to get duck-taped over and sticky. There was a small fat TV, a little cube with a staticy screen and only a couple of channels. It had a VHS slot, but if there ever were any tapes, they're beyond broken now. Sometimes the channels will play movies, and once he got to watch the movie <em> The Mask </em> playing once. Usually, it's just <em> The Simpsons </em> or a random Telenovela, and the speaker audio is always as snowy as the screen. Today the <em> Kenan &amp; Kel Show </em> is on, but since it was canceled last year, the episode playing now is a rerun dubbed in Spanish. Andrew doesn't care to watch the show, instead opting to observe everyone else in the room. Rec time is the only time people from other bunks mingled, but the invisible borders of the groups held their place. Andrew ended up in the same group as both Nicky and Aaron, a coincidence that prevented him from only being able to watch over his new-found family during the little time the groups were allowed to mix together. </p><p>It reminds Andrew of the school cafeteria, the camp wordlessly splitting itself into cliques that are easy to predict. Older kids with older kids, Chicano kids with other Chicano kids, the kid with the lisp sticking with the kid with the inhaler, and Andrew sitting alone. The camp isn’t technically segregated, but it sure looks like it is. Almost all the kids come here from El Paso, which is mostly Latino, but the lack of any white kids besides Kevin, Aaron, and himself is obvious. Group F and half of Group A is made up of almost every black kid in the entire camp, while the other half of Group A and all of Group B and C are Latino. Group D is an outlier. Andrew and Aaron sit with Boyd (Filipino), Gordon (half Vietnamese), Nicky (who gets teased by the other kids for being white-washed), Kevin (who can't spit out the silver spoon in his tone-deaf mouth), and the new kid. The new kid balances the line between these borders and sits outside and away from everyone else. He isn't as timid as he seems to try and pretend to be, Andrew remembers how he reigned Kevin in with just a look. He watches the new kid grow twitchy, his eyes darting around like they always do as he stands up to leave the loud room. </p><p>Andrew watches him leave, ignoring the screaming kids around him. Two older boys begin to wrestle, uncaring of the others they bump into and Andrew shoves them away. Another older boy is napping through the noise, and two younger kids act out and translate the episode of <em> Kenan &amp; Kel Show </em> that’s still playing. And Andrew sits and pretends he's not waiting, doing his best to lie to himself. He hates how he still waits for her, and how he hasn't learned to say no to her yet. He hopes today will be the day she doesn't call, but he knows she will. The only promise an adult has ever kept with him, and he hates it. Nicky once called him lucky, as only a handful of kids get calls. Kevin gets calls from his social worker, and Boyd from his mom, him speaking Tagalog in low tones. But no one knows who's calling Andrew, and he's not going to tell them. </p><p>Andrew is debating the benefits and risks of entertaining himself by breaking into Romero’s office to see the new kid’s file when the call comes. Speaking of the devil, Romero came in looking for him, announcing to the room, “Phone for Minyard.”</p><p>Aaron doesn’t look up anymore, he learned it’s never for him.</p><p>Andrew stands, ignoring the leers about him getting a call from his mommy, or maybe his boyfriend, and walks past Plank and outside to the payphone waiting for him. Andrew stops in his tracks when he sees the new kid sitting outside near the phone a few yards away, his back turned but undoubtedly close enough to eavesdrop. Andrew scowls at the kid’s back, but picks up the hot metal phone, ignoring how it burns his skin. Each minute cost fifteen cents, and Andrew didn’t want to waste her time and money. After all, she puts money in his account just for these calls. He presses the hot phone to his cheek, the warm sting growing familiar, almost like her warm palm holding his cheek. </p><p>“Hi A.J.”</p><p>Andrew feels his heart clench at the familiar voice. He unlocks his voice for the only person he speaks to here. “Hey, Cass.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. fish out of water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nathaniel finds something and Andrew has a chat with him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW at end<br/>thank you so much @wishbonetea for all the beta help, all mistakes are my own.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With his mother by his side, Nathaniel could sleep anywhere from train station benches to the hard dirt ground in an abandoned barn. She had taught him to drive as soon as she could, taking advantage of just how empty most of Canada and America is. Open roads where they switched seats, taking turns counting the hours till the next stop, where they traded again. Nathaniel remembers pulling over the stolen car, a mile away from the upcoming gas station to wake his sleeping mother, her driving the rest of the distance to not raise suspicion as to why a kid so young was in the driver's seat. The rumble of a car used to make his eyelids feel heavy unless he was the one behind the wheel, but during his first time in the back of his social worker’s car, his eyes itched with alertness, his mother’s absence breaking his spell. Without her, he didn't know how to sleep. The paranoia of constantly moving may have left, but without perpetual exhaustion allowing him to collapse, Nathaniel had grown sleepless. </p><p>But Camp Green Lake broke Nathaniel's exhaustion. After the first night, he hated waking up, unaware of when he fell asleep, only to suddenly jump back into consciousness without the ability to trace back his mistakes. It’s still disorienting, and the precious moments it takes to reorient himself can get him killed, he hears his mother’s voice say. Nathaniel imagines her flat line of a mouth now, she always looked— <em> looks </em> tired and worn. But the second night Nathaniel fell asleep he was less surprised by his body giving up the fight against consciousness. </p><p>The coming morning—morning always comes too early—he still instinctively reaches under his pillow, looking for a gun before remembering where he is, his whole body sore in entirely new places. Nathaniel has never been so sore in all his life, usually only a kinked neck from sleeping or shaky legs from running. This is different. Every muscle and every joint complain with movement, his fingers stiff, and his back muscles raw. He feels like his bones are inflamed from the labor, and it is a struggle to sit up out of bed. He pushes himself upright, ignoring his body's intense protesting for rest. Every second spent lying down was a second wasted before the sun would rise, and it only took one day for Nathaniel to learn to resent the sun.</p><p>He ignores the sharp throbbing of his arms while he lifts his spoon, continuing to eat his breakfast. He ignores the raw blisters that formed on his feet and hands as he marches out with the others to their new location to dig. And he ignores the friction of the shovel handle reopening the raw wounds of his palms. </p><p>Nathaniel squints to find another crack in the dense dirt. The sun still hasn't risen, but his eyes have adjusted and he finds one soon enough. He applies pressure to the fault with the spade of his shovel, wedging it in firmly. His legs aren't nearly as sore as his arms, and he decided to rely on that fact, stepping onto his blade heavily, relishing the few inches the metal sinks into the ground. His blistered fingers protest, so he decides to push the handle with only the base of his thumb, relieving some of the pressure. </p><p>Nathaniel maps out his hole diameter accounting for the dirt expansion this time, trying not to think about just how tired he is and how hard this will be. He divides his mind and body, assessing himself as he plans ahead for his future exhaustion, and tries to balance between babying his hands and ruining them beyond use. But as long as the sun isn’t out, Nathaniel is going to use his hat to protect his hands. He takes it off, ignoring the brownish stains from his blood, and wraps it around the handle, providing a thin but effective barrier. He knows once the sun rises he'll have to put it back on, protecting himself from heatstroke and burns. His skin is just tender with a hue of red radiating off of his brown skin. Sunburns are rare for him and felt foreign and itchy, but he fared a lot better than the twins, who are dotted in freckles and peeling bright pink skin. </p><p>Nathaniel is so sore, he's surprised he doesn’t throw his whole body out. Seth is right, Nathaniel thinks, the second hole is the hardest. But his muscles are beginning to loosen from his movement, the stiffness melting away gradually. His eyes unfocus as he watches himself dig one shovel full at a time. The feeling of cracking the crust with the metal head rhythmic and repetitive. He almost feels he's in a daze until the shovel slips in his hands. His hands shake when he tries to unscrew the cap of his canteen, but the water helps clear his head slightly, and he ignores the tremors as he grabs his shovel again. </p><p>The sun isn't up yet, but the rays are arching over the horizon, the blue early morning glow being burned away by a pale yellow light. Nathaniel is already running low on water, but the sky tells him they've likely already been out here for a couple of hours, and the truck should be coming by soon. His shovel scrapes against something hard, and he has to dig around the object to loosen it until the rock falls free. It wasn’t much, it’s about the size of his open palm and is flattened on one side. Right before Nathaniel decides to toss it to the side, he looks again. His sweaty palm dampens the flatter side, revealing a thin bone structure imprinted in the sediment. Nathaniel rubs his thumb against it gently, the outline becoming clearer to him. The sun begins to peek over the horizon and the additional light helps Nathaniel see the outlines of a skull, a hollow circle where eyes once were. </p><p>Nathaniel looks up and around, studying the barren flatland surrounding him. Nathaniel knows this place used to be a lake, but proof of the life once lived here held inside his hand felt… odd. He tries to imagine it, like he did yesterday. Algae, fish, and lots and lots of water.</p><p>Romero and Plank both told him that if he digs up anything interesting to report it to one of them. Apparently, if the Warden likes what a camper has found, the camper gets the day off. Nathaniel doubted those rules applied to him as well, but the fear of being punished for hiding the fossil outweighs his urge to remain silent. </p><p>He doesn't want to bring attention to the rock, not trusting one of the other boys trying to take it by force. Nathaniel tosses the rock to the side face down beside his dirt pile, as if it has no special value. Nathaniel continues to dig as he waits for the water truck, his head glancing up repeatedly without him even realizing, as if his head was being pulled by a string. Soon his eyes begin to see the tell-tale dust trail of the truck, and Nathaniel feels his mouth attempt to water. </p><p>The other boys fall into line, and Nathaniel watches them, noticing how they lined up in the same order as last time, Seth in the front and Andrew in the back. Nathaniel noticed the split between the two groups, Matt and Seth are around the same age, but Nicky and Kevin separated themselves from them, Nicky sticking with his younger cousins while Kevin floated around the three of them without actually engaging. He could tell Seth isn't exactly the leader, so Nathaniel bets he's been here the longest out of the group. </p><p>Nathaniel doesn't mind being in the back as much, at least this way he avoids the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck. He instead chooses to study the others, watching them fill up their canteens and head back one by one, watching Andrew last. His pants pocket is heavy, the rock slipped inside and hidden from the others. Plank grabs Nathaniel’s canteen, filling it, and Nathaniel takes out the fossil, presenting it wordlessly, avoiding building an expectation. </p><p>“What’s this?” Plank asks, barely looking.</p><p>“It’s a fossil,” Nathaniel says. “Here, a fish.”</p><p>Plank looks at it again, unimpressed. His big pink hand engulfs Nathaniel's as he grabs the rock. </p><p>Nathaniel feels at an uncomfortable loss of words. Feeling the need to explain, he continues, “You can see all its bones.”</p><p>Plank is still looking at the fossil when some of the other boys walk back to the truck. Kevin holds out his hand and Plank passes it, uncaring. Kevin studies it closely, Nicky looking over his shoulder asking, “Is he getting the day off now?”</p><p>“What for?” Plank responds. </p><p>“Well he found something kinda interesting,” Nicky replies.</p><p>Aaron is trying to get a look now, no longer pretending he isn't mildly curious. </p><p>Plank laughs as if Nicky asked something funny, “Well, the Warden isn’t interested in fossils.”</p><p>Nicky gives Nathaniel a shrug before passing the rock to Matt, who's running his thumb over the fish gently, tracing the lines.</p><p>Seth is looking over Matt's shoulder, his eyes squinted, “I don't see shit.”</p><p>Seth takes off his dusty and scratched glasses, trying to wipe them off on his jumpsuit, before looking again. </p><p>Matt passes it to Seth, letting him look closer, and outlines the fish with his finger, “See here? Look, it's a little fishy.”</p><p>Seth rolls his eyes, “Whatever,” he says, dropping the rock on the dirt, uncaring. </p><p>Nathaniel walks back over to his hole, leaving the fossil where it fell. Plank didn't care about the fossil at all, and Nathaniel isn’t sure how to feel. What really matters is that Nathaniel didn't make a mistake in bringing it up, even if it was unlikely for him to have been punished for staying silent. Residual anxiety from talking to Plank stings in his chest, his body lagging behind his mind. Nathaniel decides to take that anxious energy and make it into something useful and hops back down his hole, beginning to dig. </p><p>After a while, Nathaniel feels the distinct pressure of eyes on his back, something that has been following him since he showed up at Camp Green Lake. He looks up, searching for the source only to meet eyes with one of the twins. The twin begins to walk over, Nathaniel figuring it’s Andrew. Nathaniel hasn’t seen Andrew talk yet, Aaron is quiet too, but he responds to direct questions while Andrew turns his head away, uncaring. But instead of his usual apathy, Andrew’s eyes lock onto Nathaniel, marching his way over. Nathaniel looks down at his feet, pretending to focus on digging while watching Andrew from the corner of his eye. </p><p>Andrew is finally close enough that Nathaniel finally gives up the act, looking at him directly. Andrew looks back at him from under eyelids thick with sleep, </p><p>“Hey, Junior,” he says, “Next thing you find you are going to give to me.”</p><p>Andrew doesn’t ask, he demands, and Nathaniel isn’t exactly surprised. All things considered, Andrew looks like one of the most stereotypical bullies Nathaniel has ever seen. He is short, thick, and blank-faced, like a main villain’s future henchman gone through a squashed fun-house mirror. Maybe he’ll get a growth spurt soon and become a bouncer one day, Nathaniel wonders. He tries to come up with the appropriate amount of fear that should show on his face if Nathaniel didn’t have bigger things to worry about other than schoolyard bullies. But before Nathaniel can find a response, Andrew continues, “You wouldn’t want anyone knowing what I read in your file.”</p><p>Nathaniel doesn’t have to feign an expression of fear anymore. He knows it’s already slipping through his cracking mask.</p><p>“You… read my file,” Nathaniel can’t even make it sound like a question, ignoring the thundering beat behind his eyes as his hands start to shake. <em> Maybe I misheard him, calm down, maybe he’s lying </em>, Nathaniel tries to tell himself, counting his breaths. His lips remained sealed, Nathaniel didn’t know what was in there, only that there is no way there isn’t a note about his–</p><p>“Ouchies?” Andrew says mockingly, watching Nathaniel, who started to tug down his sleeves and run his hands sound his collar, Nathaniel’s nervous ticks being as good as a confession. Nathaniel’s eyes burn not with tears but rage. Andrew takes a few steps back, a silent observer to Nathaniel’s burning psyche. He feels like he’s about to scream, and his head pounds so hard Nathaniel can see the outline of a pounding vein in his vision, outlined like a floater. Before Nathaniel can get any words out, he ducks, squatting down and covering his head with his arms. Nathaniel squeezes his eyes shut, feeling his heart beat in his ears, letting his headache seize his body whole, hating how he feels like he’s floating alone in a deep black void with fire licking at his insides. Nathaniel feels his shoulders shake, as he chokes back the scream held in his throat. He’s so angry and his eyes burn so much, Nathaniel doesn’t trust himself not to burn down the world, make everyone else feel how he feels inside.</p><p>Something touches his shoulders, reaching out to grab him, and before Nathaniel can stop himself he looks up feeling his raw voice escape from his throat, “DON’T.” </p><p>But it’s too late, and all Nathaniel sees is the wrong face go from concerned to slack, as the person falls back. Nicky’s face is pale, and his body slumps to the side, passed out with his eyes open. Nicky’s twitching slightly and it actually gives Nathaniel a little relief, previously worried that he’d killed him. Nathaniel hadn’t heard the other boys come over, but he hears one now, distantly and muted. He looks over to see Aaron, who’s face isn't red from the sun for once, but from yelling. Nathaniel distantly watches Aaron who's suddenly close, grabbing Nathaniel by the collar, “What did you do, you freak?”</p><p>Aaron is shaking him now, and Nathaniel’s head lolls to the side. Andrew is watching them, silent and unmoving, Meeting Nathaniel's gaze with his own. Nathaniel watches the other in short intervals, glancing up and then back down to his pea straw bracelet, twisting it around his wrist and rubbing his skin raw. Nathaniel watches Seth tear Aaron away from him, watches Matt hold Nicky’s head, watches Kevin shake with fear. </p><p>Nathaniel watches Matt yell at Kevin, and Kevin takes off running towards the camp. Aaron seems to have calmed down, but he still looks at Nathaniel with anger and distrust in his eyes. Andrew finally moves on from inspecting Nathaniel as well, instead passing Nicky’s canteen to Matt, who holds it to Nicky's lips, head elevated in Matt's lap. </p><p>Time feels like it's going really fast and really slow, the truck pulling up only seconds later, or maybe an hour. Plank steps down, shooing Kevin out of the passenger side, before walking over to where Nicky lies on the floor. Nathaniel watches him twist off the lid of a Gatorade and drop a tablet in the bottom of the bottle, before passing it over to Matt who begins to nurse it to Nicky. It takes Matt, Seth and Plank to lift Nicky and hoist him into the passenger side of the truck. Seth was the tallest out of the group, but Matt and Nicky were the biggest, with Matt winning by being a bit taller out of the two. Nicky’s body is a loose deadweight that makes him difficult to wrangle, but the three of them manage without Kevin’s help, who still stands next to the truck, watching the others with a helpless and lost look on his face. </p><p>Plank slams the truck door shut, before waving his hands at everybody, shooing them away from the scene. </p><p>“Alright everybody, nothing to see here. It’s just heatstroke,” Plank hollers, “You’re all still expected to do your one hole each. Just because someone's getting a day off doesn’t mean–” his words cut out as he turns his head away from Nathaniel, finishing his short speech in the direction of the others before returning to the truck and driving off. </p><p>Nathaniel picks up his shovel, avoiding his urge to look at the others, and continues to dig. He slams his blade into the ground, scooping up another shovel full of dirt and dumping it to the side. Physical exertion helps Nathaniel organize his thoughts, and if he can’t run, at least he can dig. Nathaniel technically has only one witness, Andrew who Nathaniel’s never seen talk to anybody until he threatened Nathaniel. And no one will believe Nicky since he just passed out. They would think he was confused because of the heatstroke. But Aaron is suspicious and had openly attacked him, and Kevin knows about Nathaniel’s past. </p><p>What would his mother do, what would she have him do? Nathaniel chews on the inside of his cheek, as he thought, only able to answer his own question with an unhelpful response. She would hit him. She would’ve yelled at him for being stupid and make him put on the blindfold for a few hours, no matter how carsick he got. He misses her, he misses her deeply, like a raw wound in his chest.</p><p>Nathaniel distracts himself with thoughts of her, wondering what his mother’s hair color is now, and where she might be. He imagines the bitter scent of hair dye, the darker box tones they always stuck to, anything too light standing out against their complexion. He remembers the metallic taste of bobby pins in his mouth as he helped her section off her thick hair. Nathaniel doesn't look much like his mother, and the two of them sometimes struggled to meet in the middle, attempting to camouflage themselves together. </p><p>She had tried flat ironing their hair once, attempting to share a physical trait even if artificially implemented. Her hair runs down her shoulders in waves while his curls into rings looser than his father’s coiled strands. His hair laid limp and covered his eyes while flat, and he had to push it back while he sectioned off his mother’s hair. The repetitive movement had been nice, feeling the heat under his hands and watching the steam rise. It was satisfying to watch her hair grow in length while flattened even if it wasn't as much as his own. But nice moments never lasted long. He had grown careless, his movements too quick as the iron accidentally clamped against his fingers, the smell of the air changing quickly from a sandier one to much more sour. Nathaniel had gasped, pulling his hand back and closing his eyes quickly, but it was too late, and the iron had sparked and started a small fire. His mother yanked out the cord, putting out her burning scalp as an afterthought. She overshot the movement, the unplugged but still hot iron touching his skin again, his eyes still closed as he felt it burn through the edge of his sleeve and onto the top of his hand. She ignored his apology, instead telling him to sit in the corner and stare at the pea straw she taped to the wall until he could control his eyes again. It was better than when she made him wrap his eyes, he always hated how alone he felt, how vulnerable in just the darkness. By the time she allowed him to leave his spot in the room, she had cut out her charred hair chunks, tying her hair back, hiding the patch before covering her hair with a scarf again. He opened up the motel window, letting the smell escape the small room. Mary had left the room, coming back with a strawberry shortcake sorbet bar, giving it to him to ice his burnt hand. She didn't get anything for her own burns, electing to ignore them instead. Her mouth remained its flat line, pulled tight with no words of comfort to be said. She wore a wig after that, with thicker curls similar to Nathaniel’s own, and they didn’t try to meet in the middle again.</p><p>She had been uncharacteristically calm that day, instead of her usual bubbling anger. She had no need for tight grips and sharp words in that moment, deeming Nathaniel's isolation to be punishment enough. He had sat in the corner of the room, feeling the ice cream melt into a slush inside its plastic bag, condensation dripping into the carpet. His hands stung, but he refused to let go, the wallpaper growing fuzzy behind his unfocused eyes. Instead, Nathaniel counted the beating pain behind his eyes, the pain so sharp he was convinced electricity ran behind his eyelids. </p><p>His existence is lethal, it is a threat, he must never let himself forget that. Nathaniel’s eyes still burn, the image of Nicky lying limp stuck in his mind. He just needs to be better, and he hopes by the time his mother finds him—<em> if </em> she finds him—he's learned to become better, that she won't be so mad at him for getting caught. </p><p>But for now, there isn't anything else to do, but dig.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW Nathaniel's relationship with his mother is discussed, description of mild burns, and a character passes out. DM me on tumblr @i-did if you need me to add something or want more info.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. better than 'that'</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Counselor Plank does some counseling.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW at the end<br/>The slang used by José and his friends is real Chicano slang that I use when I code switch with family and friends vs when I talk to Anglos. The Chicano accent can have a lot of overlap with AAVE because of double negatives (which are grammatically correct in Spanish), but besides the slang itself, it carries over into an entire cadence and way of speaking that cannot be conveyed over text alone.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s Group Day, and Andrew wonders if the new kid is going to tattle on him for Andrew’s false claim about reading the new kid’s file. Andrew isn’t stupid, he doesn’t believe he’s immune to whatever punishment Romero would assign to Andrew for breaking into his office, and Andrew isn’t willing to roll the dice on something that could conflict with his current deal with Aaron. But Andrew knows better than most what a kid trying to hide something looks like. But just because Andrew didn’t get caught red-handed, doesn't mean he's all clear. If the new kid claims Andrew broke into Romero’s office, it’s Andrew’s word against his. Adults don't care about the truth, they care about keeping their authority and pride with as little effort as possible. Andrew’s punishment will likely be to dig an extra hole, if the new kid snitches, but Andrew doesn't think he's the type to get adults involved. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew catches himself fiddling with his own sleeves, picking at the fraying cuffs, and shoves his hands deep inside his pockets. The new kid is still a slow digger, and everyone in Groups D and C are waiting for him to come to the tent. Andrew hasn't been here long, but if he didn't have to dig for both Aaron and himself, he bets he would be a lot faster and get out of the hot sun sooner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s late afternoon when the new kid comes slumping in, the heat is at its peak of the day. Andrew watches the new kids flushed face while he takes in the room, noting the additional members from Group C sitting in a loose circle on the floor with the rest of the campers, Plank in the only fold-out chair sitting above them, and the continuing lack of Nicky. Andrew waits for a reaction to read, but the new kid holds his poker face, meeting Andrew’s eyes with nothing but exhaustion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Welcome, Junior,” Plank says. “Come join our circle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey lil man, you get your hole dug?” Boyd teases gently from across the room. The new kid doesn't hear him as he scans the room looking for a place to sit. Gordon’s long arm grabs at the back of his jumpsuit and tugs him down between Boyd and himself. The new kid lets himself be tugged once he sees who it is, settling down between the older boys and saying to Gordon “You’re right, the second hole’s the hardest.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gordon shakes his head, “The third hole’s the hardest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The new kid looks like he’s about to say something when Plank waves his arms, cutting them off by saying, “All right that's enough chit-chat. We’re not going to be at Camp Green Lake forever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Plank gives a dramatic pause, looking around at the kids and trying to meet their eyes for emphasis. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You children need to plan what you want to do with your lives, all of you need to learn to become productive members of society. We need to prepare for the day we leave here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, that's great!” a kid from Group C says, “They're gonna finally let you outta here?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy’s friends laugh, and Plank turns his sights onto him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, José,” Plank says, “What do you want to do with your life?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kid–José–is still smiling comfortably, relaxed and confident from the laughs at his joke. He half-shrugs and responds, “don’ know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well you need to think about that.” Plank is using that adult voice, the one that means they think a kid is stupid. “It’s important to have goals. Otherwise, you're going to end up right back in jail, and then prison. No one is going to help you if you can’t help yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smile is slipping off José’s face, barely clinging to the corner of his lip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you like to do?” Plank asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’ know.” José repeats.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You must like something,” Plank says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>José scratches at the back of his head and says, “Uhmm, I like animals.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” Plank responds, smiling in satisfaction as if he thinks he’s making a breakthrough of some kind. “Does anyone know of any jobs that involves animals?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Veterinarian,” Kevin says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s right,” Plank responds, “What else?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He could work in a zoo,” one of José’s friends responds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A foo in a zoo,” his other friend jokes, and the three of them laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Plank ignores their joking, instead setting his sights on Andrew. “What do you think, Aaron? Any ideas for José?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew ignores him. Even if Plank had gotten his name right, Andrew wouldn't have cared to respond. Then they might start to expect him to participate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beside him, Aaron sighs, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aaron. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>Andrew.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Having a brother is still new, and even newer than that is being mistaken for another person on a daily basis. At first, Andrew’s skin crawled with the idea of someone else having his exact body, having seen all parts of himself and it being their own, but Andrew doesn’t let himself think about it while Aaron’s clearly annoyed that not even his face is his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Plank says pointedly. His lips are tight as he looks between the two of them, trying to catalog differences he can’t see. “Well then... Aaron, what do you want to be?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aaron twists his mouth sharply, as if he regretted speaking up in the first place. Andrew watches his twin bite his nails as he rolls the response around his mouth, before spitting it out. “A doctor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Across the room Gordon snickers, saying, “More like a pharmacist,” under his breath, and by the sharp look Aaron sends Gordon’s way, he heard it too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew watches Aaron avoid eye contact as he sets his jaw, doing an oh-so-poor job of pretending the words aren’t getting to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, don’t laugh at people’s dreams,” Plank says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You kidding?” José says incredulously. “None of us are gonna be doctors.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t know that,” Plank says. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy—nothing in life is easy, but that’s no reason to give up. You’ll be surprised what you can accomplish if you set your mind to it. After all, you only have one life, so you should try to make the most of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one looks to be buying into Plank’s little pep-talk, and one of José’s friends speaks up, “So you tellin’ me I can become a doctor now? You believe that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I don’t. I don’t think all of you will make something of yourselves, most of you probably won’t. So far you’ve all done a pretty good job at messing up your lives,” Plank says. “Well let me tell you something, Mauricio. You are here on account of one person, if it wasn't for that one person, you wouldn't be here digging holes in the hot sun. You know who that person is?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mauricio raises an eyebrow. “The pig who caught me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other boys howl with laughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Plank says. “That person is you, Mauricio. You’re the reason–and the only reason–you’re here. You’re responsible for yourself and your own actions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aaron looks annoyed, “But we don't get to choose our options: adults do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Plank becomes irritated at Aaron’s words. “You kids are always making up excuses, but you’re the one who messed up your own life, and it’s up to you to fix it. No one else is going to do it for you–for any of you. I expected that lazy cop-out behavior from them,” Plank says, gesturing to José and Mauricio, “But not from you, Aaron. You’re better than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one was smiling anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Plank settles back into his chair with an air of self-satisfaction and authority, “And what about you, Junior? Have something smart to say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If the new kid wasn't still before, he is now. His mouth is drawn tight and his eyes look dark in the dimly lit room, snapped to Plank with intense focus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re ‘Little Man’ now, huh? You think you’re cool, with the bigger badder kids adopting you, taking you under their wing?” Despite Plank’s words, Gordon and Boyd stay silent. “You’ve managed to land yourself here, huh Junior? And you did it all on your own. Apple not falling far from the tree.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Plank looks around at the quiet room, and Andrew wonders if Plank thinks he's doing a good job and ‘scared them straight.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Plank smiles now, relaxed and friendly, back to his soccer coach persona, looking from one boy’s face to another. “You’re all special in your own way,” he says. “I’m not called ‘Counselor’ for nothing. Counselors help people. But I can’t help you until you help yourselves. You all have something to offer. You have to think about what you want to do, then do it. No excuses.” He turns his attention back to the new kid, “Even you, Junior. You’re not completely worthless.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The corner of the new kid’s mouth twitches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now pay attention, and read my lips,” Plank begins to say, slowing his speech and over-enunciating his words. “What do you want to do with your life?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The new kid still doesn’t respond.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be difficult. What about it, Junior?” Plank asks. “What do you like to do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, the new kid breaks, his stillness rippling away as his head tilts, revealing a long smile that hangs on his face. It stretches his features, almost too big for his face, and reveals his white rows of teeth, “I like to dig holes.”<br/><br/><br/></span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW: microaggressions and racism against the Latino campers (Plank implying that they're lazy and not as good as white campers) and being shitty by talking down to Nathaniel, as well as mentions of Aaron's drug addiction in a joke at his expense. </p>
<p>Don't call Latino's lazy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. digging up the past</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nathaniel finds something And Andrew keeps his promise.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No CW, if you need me to add something or have a question, HMU on Tumblr @i-did</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nathaniel is back out on the lake, cracking the earth. Seth is right, Nathaniel thinks, the third hole is the hardest. So is the fourth hole. And the fifth hole. And the sixth, and the–</p><p>He digs his shovel into the dirt.</p><p>It didn't take long to lose track of the day of the week; time doesn’t exist at Camp Green Lake, at least not for the campers. They don’t have watches or calendars, and nobody asks. Time here feels like another hole, one so big it’s going to take a year and a half to dig. </p><p>He’s too tired to think of running, his whole body worn out as he spends every day digging, every afternoon recovering and every night sleeping. He’s lost track of how many holes he’s dug and how many nights he's spent here. All he knows is his head hits the pillow and he wakes up to start again. </p><p>He digs his shovel into the dirt.</p><p>Against his better judgement, once again Nathaniel feels himself grow complacent, just like he did in the foster homes. Just because he hasn’t seen her in months, doesn't mean she's not coming, Nathaniel assures himself. And just because the Moriyamas haven’t come and killed him yet, doesn’t mean they won’t: a parallel, less reassuring thought. </p><p>He stops looking for his mother. He used to daydream about her barreling down the horizon towards him in a stolen van and that rushed look in her eyes. But somewhere along the way the sore feeling of swallowed disappointment that stuck sharply inside his throat got replaced with thirst and Nathaniel learned to just look for the water truck instead. </p><p>His skin has burned and peeled and burned and peeled and finally healed back twice as dark as when he got here. His hair has lightened where the sun scorched the tips and darkening freckles scatter across his exposed skin. His hands have adjusted: the skin now grows thick and scarred, no longer bleeding from the splintering handle of the shovel. Only his infected knuckle remains stubbornly swollen and sick, but it's only a mild inconvenience to ignore. He’s gained at least five pounds from muscle, and Nathaniel figures that in a year and a half he’s going to be either stronger than he's ever been, or dead.</p><p>He digs his shovel into the dirt.</p><p>The sun still feels impossibly hot in the sky, every waking moment spent sweating as his body begs for reprieve. Maybe one day it’ll be cooler, just a little bit and for once it won't feel like he's drowning in the hot air. But every night the air feels smothering as the night before, and it's not until the following afternoon when the sun hits its peak again, that Nathaniel even registers that it had been slightly cooler. The heat always seems to climb higher, and he never feels like it goes down until it rises again.</p><p>Nathaniel unscrews his canteen and takes a drink, thirsty from the suns unblinking gaze burning into his back. He tilts his head back and drinks, making eye contact with the sun. There's a small cloud sitting in the air, the only cloud he's seen in a long time, maybe the first one he's seen since he's arrived at Camp Green Lake. The other boys watch the cloud too, tacking it with their eyes and hoping it will block the sun. But as soon as the cloud gets closer, it burns away, leaving them alone with just the sun and the now empty sky.</p><p>Nathaniel’s hole is waist deep, and the feeling of earth crunching and breaking beneath his shovel has long since become a rhythmic metronome to the day. His movements come easy and rehearsed, his actions instinctual and mindless. It takes him two shovelfuls later to turn his mind back on, the gears in his head catching up with his eyes. Something glistened and he had just reburied it. </p><p>He looks at the pile next to him, it doesn’t seem worth climbing out and looking for it, but it likely landed close. Nathaniel takes his movement slow, as to not draw attention from the others, he reaches a hand over into the fluffy powder of dirt next to his hole, fingers sifting through for what he thought he saw. He’s beginning to believe he imagined it all and is about to go back to digging, deciding he is wasting time—he didn’t actually see anything, he just needs more water to drink, he thinks—when his fingertips brush against something hot. His hands gently pinch the item between his fingers as he lifts it out of the dirt.</p><p>The item looks metallic, radiating heat gently into his palm as if it’s been laying in the sun. The metal object is a flat rectangle with rounded off corners on one side and four lined-up ridges on the other. A fifth ridge breaks off before the others. The metal is rough with divots and lost details and Nathaniel takes what little water he has and pours a drop on it before polishing it with the cleaner fabric inside his jumpsuit pocket.  He looks again at the object, the small engravings caked with dirt between the cracks. It's not very large, larger than a coin and smaller than the bowl of a spoon. It still sits warm in his sweaty palm, maybe even warmer than before, as if the metal were reacting to his own flesh. </p><p>Bad timing as always, his eyes begin to ache, and he struggles to continue inspecting it. Nathaniel slips it into his pocket and presses his hands to his head, his brain nagging at him uncomfortably. Suddenly his stomach drops, and he feels cold, ice-cold all over, as if his stomach and blood is full of water. He shivers, something is wrong, something is wrong, something is wrong, but he can't put his finger on what. His migraines have never felt like his before, and Nathaniel gasps, air filling his lungs and the sticky heat returning to his body. He looks around, but he doesn't know what he's looking for. His hands ache from being empty, but he doesn't want to hold his shovel anymore. He feels lost, but even more so he feels like he's lost something, like something has been torn out of his hands and he will die if he never gets it back. His search starts to become frantic, emotion swelling uncomfortably in the base of his throat, thick and too painful to swallow. He feels the pendant in the pocket of his pants, and it’s stinging his skin like it's going to burn a hole through the fabric.</p><p>He turns his head and his eyes meet another’s. Andrew is squatting near the edge of Nathaniel’s hole, hands propped up on his knees and meets Nathaniel eye to eye. He reminds Nathaniel of a vulture, his head turns to the side, inspecting Nathaniel with his sharp stare. Andrew’s pupils look like pinpricks, dilated by the bright sun into dark dots. Andrew stares at Nathaniel with unblinking eyes before reaching out his palm and laying it open. </p><p>It takes a minute for Nathaniel to collect his thoughts and trace his memory back to weeks before, the last time Andrew approached him. He stares at Andrew’s steady, open palm, watches his fingers snap twice before Nathaniel reaches into his pocket pinching the object between his fingers and dropping it into Andrew’s waiting hand. The metal still feels too hot to Nathaniel to just be heated from his body heat, but Andrew gives no indication of feeling the same as he inspects it shortly, tilting it towards him before closing his hand shut. </p><p>The image of the small token in Andrew’s palm sticks inside his head but his aching panic from before fades quickly and distracts him. Nathaniel doesn't care about the little relic, he doesn't know if he thinks the warden would find it interesting, but he does know that he doesn't care to find out. Nathaniel watches Andrew walk back to his hole, the other boys serving as an indiscreet audience. </p><p>When the water truck comes by, Andrew keeps the object in his pocket, presumably saving it for a rainy day.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I also have a holes tag where I reblog stuff that is connected to this AU</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. blood's thicker than water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Andrew hears something outside the tent.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW at the end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Andrew lays in his itchy cot and listens to the rhythmic sound of the other boys breathing in their sleep. His hand slips into his pocket and pulls out the small metal object he’d taken from the new kid, rubbing his fingers over the ridges blindly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His deal with Aaron is stuck in a lull, withdrawal sweated out painfully and dangerously at Camp Green Lake, but Aaron hasn't needed Andrew to switch in almost a week. Unless Aaron gets sick or relapses, all Andrew has to do is wait until they're out of here and keep him sober, and all Aaron has to do is stay by his side. Four years of sobriety for four years of loyalty. Hopefully, by the time they leave this place, Aaron will have grown a spine and be able to stand against his mother. If not, things are going to get a lot more messy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For now, Andrew focuses on the options at hand. The new kid has proven to have a disappointing lack of fight in him, letting himself fall into the pecking order without much fuss—so much for that promise he showed earlier in the beginning; Andrew would've liked the challenge. It’s always fun to see them break. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thoughts are interrupted by the wind howling outside, the whining tone ringing lowly in his ears. Andrew pauses, and takes note of the still canvas walls of the tent and stuffy air. The sound continues, slowly shifting from far away screams into nearby choking, as if someone is outside the tent. He grabs his shoes, holding them in his hands as he walks as quietly as he can across the splintery press-wood floors of the tent, careful not to wake anyone. He slips his shoes on once he’s outside the entrance of the tent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hot still air of the night greets his face uncomfortably, but it’s undoubtedly cleaner than in the tent. It almost smells like open water and freshly cut cactus. The smell of greenery distracts him, but suddenly the sound lures him around the corner of the tent, and he is met with a young woman in white. Her skin is dark and smooth, and her hair looks like red wine in the night, straight black strands reflecting a deep dark auburn against the moonlight. She's dressed in something Andrew’s never seen before, a white lace and fabric halo surrounding her face and draping over her shoulders and covering her arms. The bottom hem of her dress is dirty and worn from the dust and earth, and as she walks Andrew sees the paler soles of her feet, revealing themselves to be blistered and burned from walking on the hot desert floor. One ankle looks swollen and sickly, but she pays her injuries no mind as she walks without a limp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reedy breaths fall from her chest, a crazed look of panic in her eyes as she looks around her. The moment her dark eyes meet his, her image ripples like water in a pond. She's now wearing a white blouse with the sleeves off her shoulders, a loose, billowing skirt, and brown fabric that draped over her shoulders she bundled in her hands. Her feet remain painfully the same. The fabric looks rough and dirty, but clings to her skin as if wet, and a strong chemical smell kills the botanical one from before. It smells flammable, thick fumes of kerosene sitting heavy on the back of Andrew’s tongue. Her breathing is still heavy in panic, she looks like she's drowning in the open air, mouth open and gasping, eyes filled with horror. Relief and panic live in her eyes as she looks at Andrew, babbling to herself before starting again, her Spanish accent thick, “They took him, they took him, have you seen him? My boy, they took–Mijo. Do you know where he is? He’s here. I remember something, you have to remember something for me. Too much has been forgotten.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew feels his body slow, as if wading through thick mud or water. The air smells swampy and his legs fight against an invisible current. He turns his head, looking over his shoulder back to where the entrance to the tent lays, where the boys stay sleeping. He turns back to the woman and she's closer to him–too close–and he fights the urge to back up and give ground. She’s calmer now, but her tone is deadly serious, still sharp with the edge of desperation. “I never finished it, I never– I have to tell him the rest, he doesn't know– say it for me. You must remember, no one remembers. You must remember. Plea—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's waist deep in cool lake water, the woman still singing her pain into his ear, he listens to her shaking voice, the words no longer directed to him but someone else. The pollen of cattails makes Andrew’s eyes itch and gnats buzz loudly in his ears. He tries to swat them away, but he's holding something close in his arms, trying to keep it dry. He doesn’t know what it is, he doesn’t have time to look down. Andrew is scared for her, and shouts at her to run. She's with him, crying and running ahead, holding something wrapped in her shawl and close to her chest. A loud gunshot rings out close enough to make Andrew’s ears pop. At first, it feels like a wasp sting, sharp and in the center of his back. But the pain is too hot, too deep, he can't breathe. And suddenly, all he can do is sink into the mud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew wakes up sweaty in his own bed, Romero hollering at them while he rips off nearby blankets and flashing his light in their eyes. “Up and at ‘em, boys. New dawn, new day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew ignores his sweating, shivering body, his chest aching in a heavy burdensome way. He slips out from under his sheet, getting ready with the others, the woman’s words heavy in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW witnessing a panic attack, the sound of a gun, physical pain, and nightmares. <br/>If you need anything added or want to know if your trigger is in here, you can comment or reach out to me on Tumblr <a href="https://i-did.tumblr.com/">@i-did</a> </p><p>if you want to know what she's wearing:<br/><a href="https://hauteculturefashion.com/huipil-grande-tehuantepec/">the headdress</a><br/><a href="https://www.tota.world/article/690/">common dress</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. familiar faces</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nathaniel goes back to digging.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Posting this one after yesterday since recently they've been such short chapters. <br/>Enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>That morning Nathaniel sits across from Andrew at breakfast. He ignores Matt and Seth’s curious glances while he takes in Andrew’s sickly face. His face is paler than usual, and the dark circles look etched deeper today. Andrew looks up from his bowl of cereal, chewing his jaw in slow circles like cattle. He looks as bored and unimpressed as he always does, and Nathaniel deviating from established patterns doesn’t seem to have changed that. Andrew slowly raises a single eyebrow, still chewing slowly as he ignores a dribble of milk run down his chin before sticking his still cereal coated tongue out to chase it and smile large and open with corn flakes in his teeth. Nathaniel decides to mirror the expression, raising his own eyebrow slowly before showing a smile of his own. Nathaniel’s not sure if he's ever capable of smiling without looking like his father, but he doesn't let his lips fall back until Andrew’s have. If Nathaniel’s smile is as ugly as he thinks it is, Andrew doesn't show it as he looks back down at his food and continues to finish his breakfast. Nathaniel's smile falls, but not all the way, leaving a smaller, more genuine one behind, and he looks down at his bowl to hide it. Neither of them say a word for the rest of their meal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Romero marches them across the lake, leaving his usual trail of spit out sunflower seed shells along the way. Andrew lags further behind the group than usual, his shovel dragging behind him, limp in his hands. Nathaniel ignores him, instead focusing on trying to keep up with Matt and Seth’s conversation while they walk. They don't ask about breakfast, but they look at him with an unspoken question behind their eyes that Nathaniel doesn’t answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re in a less dug area today, further out from the tents than usual. There aren't a lot of holes around and Nathaniel wonders if it’s better to waste time on the long walk to some or if he’s going to have to use the bathroom in the one he digs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Romero looks around at the land, mapping it out with his eyes before he goes along following his invisible mapped-out route, scuffing the dirt with his boot, where each mark from his boot heel where they were going to dig. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Early morning is starting to become Nathaniel’s favorite time of day. He doesn't think he's ever had one before, but not only is it coolest before the sun rises, but everything is covered in a calm blue light. Nathaniel wasn’t a very imaginative kid before Camp Green Lake, but since coming here he can’t help but picture the blue light as water, and sometimes he almost thinks he smells trees too. It’s also the only time of day he can see the distant hills on the other side of the lake, only visible before the haze of the heat hides them again. The rising sun cuts across the river of blue, replacing it with the stinging hot orange glow of the ground. The blue doesn't really leave, Nathaniel reminds himself as he looks at the once black sky turning over into dawn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The water truck comes after the sun does, and Nathaniel is well practiced by now on how to pace his ration of water. He savors his last drop just before waiting in line, just behind Andrew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew doesn’t say anything to Romero and walks back to his hole, but he rests his hand in his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel watches him and says, “I won't take it back– I don’t want it back. I just want to see it, see if I know what it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Romero has finished filling all their canteens, he climbs back into the truck to make his way over to Group F, who are digging about two hundred yards away. Nathaniel watches Andrew sitting in his own hole, hand still in his pocket as he debates Nathaniel’s words. He looks over at Romero before pulling it out, and Nathaniel feels the same haunting feeling from yesterday. But it’s a subdued and manageable grief he can control this time. Before Nathaniel can focus on it, Andrew rips his hand back, startled. Nathaniel looks at Andrew’s face, but Andrew is looking over at the other boys. Nathaniel follows his gaze, to where he sees Kevin looking at their hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Counselor Plank, I think Andrew found something,” Kevin shouts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky gets excited, and begins to wave his hands, “Counselor Plank– Wait– Counselor Plank. Andrew might have found something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew watches the others with the edge of irritation beginning to become legible in the corners of his expression, but he drops the metal into the dirt before scooping it up again in one smooth motion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it was Romero driving the truck, he probably would’ve ignored them and drove on, but Plank slows the truck to a stop before sliding back out. Nathaniel tenses while Plank makes his way back over to them. Plank stands so close, Nathaniel can smell his sunscreen waft over while he holds his hand out. Andrew slightly hesitates before dropping the re-tarnished metal into his palm. He takes off his sunglasses and inspects the object closely before spitting on it and rubbing it off. A smile starts to break across Plank’s tomato-like face, and he nods to himself saying, “I think the Warden is going to like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel startles at Kevin’s hand snaking its way over Nathaniel's shoulder, an elbow almost clipping his face. He looks around to see the other boys have gathered behind him as well, and Nathaniel feels a sick anxiety at not being more vigilant and noticing them approach, even if they came from an angle he couldn’t see. He doesn’t know why he is so drawn to the small object, but he shouldn’t have let himself get distracted by it. Even out here in the desert, Nathaniel’s softening vigilance is a liability.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does Andrew get the day off?” Kevin asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just keep digging until someone says otherwise,” Plank responds. “But if I were you, Andrew, I wouldn’t dig too hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plank drops the object into his front tee-shirt pocket and pats it like a prize, before sliding his sunglasses back on and walking off back to the truck. He drives off towards the cabin beneath the trees, forgetting about the boys in Group E.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long for the pick-up truck to return, but once Nathaniel sees who stepped out, he wishes the truck took longer. A tall white woman with strawberry blonde hair and heavily freckled skin steps out, looking just like she did three years ago, only this time with a black cowboy hat and boots to match. Lola Malcolm looks on at the group, lifting a hand covered in turquoise rings to take off her sunglasses and give Nathaniel a wink. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. bite the hand that feeds you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lola thanks Andrew for his find.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW at end</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andrew feels the new kid tense at his side and back away slowly, attempting to subtly shield himself with a larger distance than the usual yard-stick of separation rule from adults that Andrew has so far observed. The sound of spurs jingling with each step has Andrew turning his head, looking back at the Warden and Plank approach them. Andrew’s never seen the Warden until now, and he didn't expect her to look like this: a woman chewing gum while she smiles at the two of them, hooking her sunglasses on the front of her shirt and rolling up her sleeves.</p><p>“This where you found it?” she asks. </p><p>Andrew can smell the mint on her breath and watches her smile crinkle around her eyes, but still he doesn't respond. Andrew can wait; he's great at the silent game.</p><p>Before the silence stretches too long, Nicky steps up and responds, “Yes ma’am, we saw him find it.”</p><p>She eyes Andrew, but chooses to ignore his lack of response and says, “Your good work will be rewarded,” before patting him on the shoulder and smiling at him wide. Her hand is warm and soft, just like Cass’– it makes his skin crawl.</p><p>He stops himself from his nails digging too deep into his palms and is about to shrug off her hand when she lifts it. He was ready to bite her hand, but instead settles for scratching at his shoulder where she’d touch him, the intentionally kind gesture making him feel as raw and itchy as his never healing sunburns.</p><p>“Drive Andrew back to camp. Let him take a double shower, and give him clean clothes. But first I want you to fill everyone’s canteen,” she says with the clap of her hands.</p><p>“I just filled them a while ago,” corrects Plank.</p><p>The Warden smiles to herself, pausing as she looks at the ground with a slight shake to her head before looking back at Plank, staring hard at him. </p><p>“Excuse me,” she says with a soft voice.</p><p>“I had just filled them when–”</p><p>“Excuse me,” she says again. “Did I ask you when you last filled them?”</p><p>“No, but it’s just–”</p><p>“Excuse me.”</p><p>Plank stops talking, and the Warden places the same hand sweetly on Plank’s shoulder, as if he is a dear friend or a small child. </p><p>“It is a hot day today, and it is only going to get hotter,” she's still smiling, with her eyes as gentle as her words. “Now, these boys have been hard at work out here on this hot day. Don't you think it is possible that these fine young men might have taken a drink since you last filled their canteens?”</p><p>Plank says nothing.</p><p>She turns to look at the other boys, “Nicky, will you come here please?”</p><p>Andrew is surprised she knows his name, and from Nicky’s face he's just as surprised too. Andrew is beginning to believe the rumors about her surveillance might have just a bit more weight to them than he initially thought. Nicky nervously goes towards her.</p><p>“Mr. Plank and I have been having a discussion over here. By any chance, have you taken a drink since Mr. Plank last filled your canteen?”</p><p>Nicky’s eyes panic, as he splits his attention between the two adults staring at him. </p><p>“I still have plenty left ma’am,” he says.</p><p>“Excuse me,” she repeats, tone still kind.</p><p>Nicky frets with his hands quickly before stopping himself and says, “Yeah– Yes. Yes, I drank some.”</p><p>“Thank you, Nicky. May I see your canteen please.” She holds out her hand, her fingernails clean and painted dark red.</p><p>He hands it over into her waiting hand. She gently shakes the canteen, letting the water swish inside the plastic container. “Do you hear the empty spaces Mr. Plank?”</p><p>“Yes,” Plank responds.</p><p>“Then fill it,” It's a demand under a thin coating of a request. “And next time I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it without questioning my authority. If it’s too much trouble for you to fill a canteen, I’ll give you a shovel. You can dig the hole, and Nicky over here can fill your canteen.” She turns back to Nicky, “I don’t think that would be too much trouble for you, would it?”</p><p>“No, ma’am,” Nicky says.</p><p>“So what will it be?” she asks Plank. “Do you want to fill the canteens, or do you want to dig a hole?”</p><p>“I’ll fill the canteens,” Plank replies.</p><p>“Thank you,” she says with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>While the Warden turns back to the truck, Plank lines up the boys to refill their canteens. Andrew wouldn't have played this card this soon, but he didn’t have a choice now. Andrew looks at the new kid, who's still watching the Warden as she watches him back, sitting in the car with her sunglasses back on. Andrew grabs the new kid by the back of the neck and pushes him towards the water line, where she can no longer stare at him. He stumbles a few steps, dazed, before looking back at Andrew with an odd look on his face. He turns back around and settles into his new place in line. Aaron falls in stride besides Andrew, looking over at his shoulder as if someone would care to be watching them.</p><p>“Who’s going back?” Aaron asks.</p><p>Aaron's cautiously hopeful face almost makes Andrew want to punch him. Instead, Andrew waits Aaron out, watching him without seeing to see what he'll do. Aaron’s expression quickly turns sour, irritation at Andrew’s silence, and spits, “Fine, be that way.”</p><p>Andrew still hasn't responded, but he hasn’t made a move to get into the truck either. Instead, he slips his hat off and puts it in his hand. Aaron’s expression lifts, recognizing the gesture, he does the same, putting the hat in the hand closest to Andrew. After they trade, Aaron looks at Andrew and says, “I’ll give you the extra tokens,” before turning back around and into his place in line. </p><p>Andrew doesn’t care about the tokens, but he doesn’t care to correct Aaron either. He watches Aaron get in the truck, and when he turns back to Aaron’s pit he feels eyes on him. Andrew’s not surprised when he looks to see little Junior watching him. Andrew doesn't think the new kid watches Aaron like this. He doesn’t know why he keeps staring, but as he watches the kid back, he takes a long sip of his freshly topped-up canteen before giving the kid a two finger salute.  </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW description of being touch repulsed. </p><p>Check out my Tumblr @i-did for my #holes tag where I reblog things that are like photos of how I imagine things and the like.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. family buisness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lola has more on her mind than just catching up with Nathaniel.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW at the end</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nathaniel watches the truck shrink along the horizon, the wrong twin inside. Lola stays behind waiting for the truck to return. “Well, it's been a long time now, hasn’t it?” she asks.</p><p>She speaks slowly now, watching him and waiting for his response. Nathaniel feels stupid for failing to realize that if Plank and Romero are here, then Lola would be too. The three of them used to work for his father–or rather, were assigned to his father by the main family. But Romero and Plank were just muscle–Lola was special. She was Nathaniel’s private tutor, in charge of all his homeschooling for Nathaniel’s “special educational needs.” Nathaniel has her to thank for most of his scarring, the thickly raised lines of intentional design starkly contrasting the rest of his smaller runaway scars from skinned knees and broken glass. </p><p>Lola kindly tsks him, saying, “Your conversation skills have rusted. You used to be much more polite, Junior.”</p><p>Nathaniel stares at her, watching her speak closely, afraid to miss any words. She lifts a hand, and he muffles his instinctual flinch, letting her ruffle his sweaty curls playfully. Her touch is gentle, but it still hurts. Lola’s surface level kindness makes him feel sick, remembering those hands cooing him gently as she covered the cut she carved into his skin with gauze. </p><p>
  <em> “Try again Nathaniel, and this time don't mess up.” </em>
</p><p>Words for a response, any response, continue to stick inside his throat like peanut butter. Nathaniel swallows, his throat feeling dry and tight, swollen from all the words he can’t say. His jaw locks into silence, remembering the feeling of her hands around his neck. Lola was always softer on Nathaniel than his own mother was, wiping his tears and petting his head. But Lola is a lot harsher too, her kindness nothing but a well-designed disguise for who she really is. Nathaniel prefers his own mothers approach to kindness, at least when his mom hits him she doesn’t kiss his forehead after, but instead hands him an ice pack and moves on. </p><p>Nathaniel’s wishes for their conversation to be over is granted, his stiff silence forgotten with the return of the pickup truck, this time with both Plank and Romero who unload three wheelbarrows and several pitchforks. Lola chooses to sideline their reunion over shouting orders at the others. They're still standing away from everyone else, and she holds him by the shoulders, gently–steering him to his new station–before continuing on. Matt takes over Andrew’s old spot, while Andrew takes Aaron's spot as if it were his own. Nicky is the only one who remains in the same space. Lola pairs the boys off: Matt with Seth, Nicky with Kevin, and Andrew with Nathaniel. Matt, Nicky, and Andrew dig, while Seth, Kevin, and Nathaniel shovel their partner’s dirt into wheelbarrows, sifting through to double-check the diggers didn’t miss anything. Once Nathaniel’s wheelbarrow fills he rolls it far away from their digging site, dumping it where Lola points to. Occasionally, Lola sifts with the pitchfork through the dirt, before continuing to direct with her arms and clap her hands, reminding everyone not to miss anything and promising double showers and a day off to any team that finds anything. Plank and Romero stay at the site too, only occasionally leaving to take water to the other groups of campers, but otherwise the two of them stay with the water truck. Lola tells them to make sure that not a single boy in Group D is thirsty.</p><p>Nathaniel does as he is told, carefully looking through all the dirt Andrew dug up, first while shoveling and after when dumping. The two of them know they're not going to find anything, but neither boy drops the act and continues to do what they're told. Nathaniel thinks that having a partner is easier than digging his own hole anyway, and the feeling of running the wheelbarrow back and forth satisfies Nathaniel's desire to sprint. He feels at home in the motions. The wheelbarrow feels heavier in his arms than a duffel bag, but it’s welcome all the same. He lets himself run the wheelbarrow a further distance away from where Andrew digs than necessary.</p><p>Nathaniel watches Lola walk around and look over the boys’ shoulders. She restlessly sifts through the piles with her pitchfork, and looks at Nathaniel and says, “You’re doing fine, just fine,” before looking back at the digging site.</p><p>Eventually, the diggers begin to slow down, and Lola has the runners take their place, switching jobs. Andrew is faster than he looks, Nathaniel notices, as he runs the wheelbarrow with a slower but steadier ease than Nathaniel.  Nathaniel doesn’t dig as fast as Andrew, but he notices that he's not as slow as he once was, and is able to keep up with the older boys. Digging isn't as comforting as running is, but the movements have become familiar enough to have a similar effect. </p><p>Lola allows them to break for lunch as usual, and Nathaniel’s exhausted muscles begin to shiver at the rest. Nathaniel sits at the bottom of the hole with Andrew in silence. It was unusual–eating with Andrew for two meals in a row–but not unwelcome. The lack of any attempt at conversation allows Nathaniel to relax more, feeling comfortable in his own silence. Matt and Seth are nice to him, but Nathaniel got tired of trying to keep up with their conversations and asking them to repeat themselves when he missed it. But Andrew didn’t talk to anybody here–except the time he asked Nathaniel to give him anything he found. It was another way to tell the twins apart, besides the sleeves and the expressions and the hats, Aaron liked to roll his eyes and would sometimes bother with a response, Andrew only stared back.</p><p>Nathaniel watches Andrew tear apart his tortilla into little pieces before eating them, each piece an even bite. Andrew licks peanut butter off of his thumb and wipes his hand off on his dusty overalls, watching Nathaniel back. Nathaniel shrugs a response at Andrew’s blank look, and continues to finish his own tortilla before dusting off his apple. It’s not long before Andrew stands, And Nathaniel follows, peeking his head over the edge of the hole to see Romero beginning to rush them back to work. Lola fans herself with her black cowboy hat, this time, when she looks at him, she doesn't bother to smile.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW to vauge illusions to Lola's treatment of Nathaniel in the past, as well as his mothers.<br/>You can also comment or DM me if you have any questions about the fic or need CW</p><p>I have a holes tag on tumblr @i-did if you wanna check it out.<br/>the next chapter will be the first decent sized one in a while, woo.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. come when you're called</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Andrew get's another phone call.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW at the end<br/>(lol whoops, got distracted while drawing)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Warden’s mood has visibly shifted after lunch. She kicks off the truck, clapping once sharply and telling them all to get back on it. Her tone remains kind, switching between soft encouragements and belted instructions. “There's no hurry,” she says while her eyes scan the land sharply. “The main thing is not to miss anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew grabs his shovel, stretching out his back until it popped, before throwing the shovel back gown into the earth again, cracking the ground. He can feel the new kid watching him out the corner of his eye, and when Andrew looks back, catching him in the act, he doesn't bother to look away. Andrew tries to ignore the new kid, but he catches himself looking back, watching the sweat drip into his blue eyes from his auburn curls. The new kid's hair has grown a lot longer than it was since he arrived, Andrew thinks to himself. It’s thick and coily, and Andrew wonders if the hair under his hat works more as insulation than protection, trapping the heat in instead of deflecting it. Andrew imagines touching the curls, feeling the warmth of his scalp under Andrew's fingertips. Abruptly, Andrew’s palms itch and discomfort at the thought settles in his stomach. But the new kid watches him back, the gaze touching Andrew’s back feeling like a punch to the gut. His eyes are intense and unsettling, they make the hair on the back of Andrew’s neck stand up, but despite this, Andrew doesn’t tell him to knock it off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone is tired, and the mud caked on their skin begins to crack while the sweat dries, and the excitement from constant water refills has begun to lose its novelty. The Warden finally calls it off after each hole dug is six feet deep and six feet wide. But no one complains. Two campers digging one six foot hole together is easier than digging one five foot hole alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The adults slump from the heat, tired and sweaty from the sun. The three of them are useless, Andrew thinks, complaining about the heat while they don’t even have to do anything. Andrew’s not surprised when the three of them drive off without loading up the wheelbarrows in the back of the truck, leaving half the campers stuck in the bottom of six foot holes. He didn’t expect them to help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The top of the hole sits far above Andrew’s head. His arms ache, and he swings the shovel as he thinks. His arms are too tired to do a pull-up, by grabbing just the edge and lifting himself out by sheer force of will like he usually does, and Andrew doesn't think a running start will do anything but make himself even more tired. The new kid’s head peaks over the rim, and he watches Andrew. Andrew thinks using the shovel by leveraging it into the earth at an angle and then stepping on it like a stool. Andrew is debating if the handle would snap when the new kid talks to him for the second time since he’s arrived. “I always dig footholds.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew looks back at him, but the kid has already begun to dig one with his bare hands, crouched over and scratching lightly into the hard dirt walls. Andrew never thought of that, and part of him thinks it is due to his own resolve to dig the bare minimum required, and not an inch more. He walks forward and swats the new kid’s hand away, but he doesn't look offended. Instead, he continues to watch Andrew line up the shovel with his beginning dent, and chips into it making it bigger. As he digs again, he listens to the chink of the metal against the earth and the kid breathing above him, watching. The new kid suddenly leaves but it's less than a minute before he's back, and he jumps down beside Andrew at the bottom of the hole. He has his own shovel in hand, and starts to dig pits beside him. Andrew doesn’t need help, but when he says as much the kid doesn't respond. Andrew doesn't care, if he wants to waste his energy than he can, and the two of them continue working in silence, making small notches to climb out by. The two of them dig away fist sized holes efficiently, and without looking back the new kid climbs back up first. He turns around holding his hand out, and it takes a second for Andrew to realize he's asking for Andrew’s shovel. He throws it up and the kid catches it easily, propping himself up between the two and watching Andrew climb up next. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew watches to the other boys of their group laugh and scramble their own ways out. He listens to his cousin yell in protest as Kevin insists he can just pull him up, watching their failed attempts. Even Gordon struggles to climb up, Boyd pulling on his arms, using momentum to pull him up the six feet. Andrew scans his eyes across the horizon, looking at the honeycombed earth. The other groups are mostly still out digging their individual five-foot holes, looking on at their group with mixed resentment and curiosity. He can hear his cousin and Kevin talking behind him, and when he turns he sees the new kid is with them, barely listening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wonder how she knew all our names,” Nicky says. They’re gathering shovels and putting them in a wheelbarrow the new kid is pushing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kevin stiffens, looking around over his shoulder before responding. “She watches us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky laughs, “Yeah, that’s kinda her job.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No– like with cameras,” Boyd chips in, pushing his own wheelbarrow up besides the three of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gordon’s beside him says, “Yeah, I heard it too. She’s got hidden microphones and cameras all over the place. In the tents, the Wreck Room, the shower…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The shower?” Nicky asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, a smile spreads over Gordon’s face, as if he’s telling a little kid a ghost story. “The cameras are tiny, no bigger than the toenail on your little toe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nicky’s face scrunches as he thinks about it, but Kevin’s uncomfortable posture shows that he believes it. Andrew doesn't think they can make cameras that small. Microphones, maybe. And definitely not anything out here on the lake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The four of them vote on it, Kevin and Gordon saying they believe in them, while Boyd and Nicky aren’t so sure, but are starting to look like they do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think, Junior?” Nicky asks, but the new kid doesn't answer. Instead, his eyes are locked across the horizon. Andrew follows his gaze, easily guessing where he’s looking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would take a moron to still think they were digging to “build character.” The Warden is looking for something, and whatever she's looking for, they’re looking in the wrong place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew gazes out across the empty lake, his eyes straining to see the spot where the silver item had been found only yesterday. Andrew knows he won't forget where it is. He looks back at the new kid, and he knows the new kid won't forget either.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They walk back to Camp, dropping off the shovels and wheelbarrows before heading back to their tent. Their usual routine of gathering their shower tokens and soap bars in one hand, coveralls in the other, is interrupted. Their hesitation is obvious; most of the older boys looking to find some small way to justify their stalling. Andrew watches Boyd fiddle with the cap of his canteen and Gordon stand near him silently, scuffing his shoes against the floor. Even Kevin and Nicky avoid leaving the tent to head to the bathroom and change. Andrew figures the idea of being watched is unfamiliar to them. He watches them stall for a minute, the idea of cameras lingering in most of the boys’ minds. Andrew and the new kid, however, seize on their hesitation, choosing to take the opportunity to get it over with before the rest of the camp comes back from the lake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two of them ignore each other, grabbing tokens and soap with their spare coveralls and walking out. It feels too much like leaving together for Andrew’s comfort, so he lags behind, still not letting the other kid be at his back. By the time Andrew reaches the showers, the new kid has already started, and dirty water washes down the tiles to Andrew’s shoes. Andrew can see his soaking socked feet, and he looks away, remembering that those feet are connected to someone naked and unaware of his stare.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew’s brain involuntarily reminds him of one foster home a few years back, and its convenient peephole into the bathroom. Out of spite, Andrew found some dog shit from his then neighbors lawn, grabbed it with a plastic bag and dropped it into his foster fathers dryer with his just cleaned clothes. He was beaten and kicked out after that, but it was easily worth it. That was his last house before Cass’s—Andrew’s body grows cold. Her memory brings him to a stop, and the water cuts off before Andrew even has a chance to fully rinse off the soap on his body, his movements stiff as he puts the cleaner jumpsuit on his still wet body, covering himself on instinct. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moves without thinking, without seeing, and bumps into the new kid, who's ringing his socks out. Andrew looks at his bare feet, standing on top of his shoes instead of wearing them. One foot is missing his pinky toe and about half of the next one, leaving him with only seven toenails. The new kid is looking at him intensely, but he's not angry about getting bumped into. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Andrew finishes thinking, he asks, “Is that why you wear socks in the shower?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The new kid looks surprised by the question, taking a minute to respond, “My feet? Uh– no.” He begins shoving his feet inside his shoes, using the sink for balance. “I just don’t want Athletes Foot. I got it before in a trailer park shower once. I don’t trust public showers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew listens to his voice. It sounds almost fuzzy, the words slightly out of focus and blended together. He emphasizes some sounds hard while others drop off softer. But if it’s an accent, it’s not one Andrew’s ever heard before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes Andrew a second to realize he hasn't responded, distracted by looking at his lips. He looks back into his eyes and hums. Andrew turns to look at him through the mirror instead, the sharp edge of eye contact dulled by the reflection. He stares back silently, just watching each other as they recently often do. Andrew hears some other boys come through the door noisily, but the new kid doesn't startle until they get closer, their movement in the mirror’s reflection distracting him. The new kid puts his damp socks in his pocket before washing his hands, and Andrew feels the silent radiation from his stare snap off, brittle and clean.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew doesn’t look behind him while he walks back out to the tent, but he doesn’t have to for him to know the new kid is glancing at his back once again. Andrew can always feel his eyes on him, but it doesn’t sting like he expects it to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Aaron is silently reading in the corner of the Wreck Room. The book is torn and likely missing pages, and the back cover is completely ripped off. There are only a few books in the Wreck Room: one about Jesus and choosing the right path, one called Chicken Soup for the Soul, and three Animorphs books—all of them random sequels. Andrew doubts Aaron has the first two if how Aaron scoffed whenever their uncle talked was anything to go by. Andrew would rather watch TV static for two hours or stare at a blank wall than read. And that’s exactly what he does. Andrew sits in the Wreck Room, dreading the call that he knows is going to come. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like it does every week, a phone rings in another room, and Romero comes in, calling for “Minyard” before transferring the line to the camper phone line outside. Andrew used to wait out by the phone instead, hedging Nicky’s questions and Aaron’s glances, but the sun peeled away his skin and one annoyance was traded for another. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew stands, feeling hollow as a puppet, strings pulling him towards the familiar path as he goes through the motions, ignoring the jeers and glances, the sounds cutting off as he walks through the hallway and out the door. The sun always burns his eyes after adjusting to the dark indoors, but the metal handle of the phone is hotter, stinging sharply through his thickly callused hands. His hands don't feel the burn as much as they used too, the nerves quieting their warning protest of danger from the familiar heat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Transferring call: outside for Minyard, Andrew.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew listens to the click as Romero transfers the call, connecting the line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her voice comes in, staticky and sweet, “Hi A.J.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t cut her out, he can’t let her go. Not for himself anyway, but he could for someone else. But he made his deal with Aaron, even if Aaron doesn’t really understand. It was a trade– or a compromise. Aaron gets to keep Tilda, and Andrew keeps Cass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew shuffles his feet, “Hey, Cass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Drake gets to keep him, only him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How’s camp going?” she asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew breathes out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine. I'm still sunburned. How’re you?” he asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughs at that, and promises to look into sending him some aloe vera if she can. Andrew doesn’t ask for sunscreen. Their conversation buzzes in his ears, every week so familiar and friendly and… normal. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend they're sitting in the kitchen, the two of them sitting at the wooden kitchen table that’s painted green and chipping. The static is coming from a nearby radio instead, one she’s fiddling with and trying to fix. The house is small and homey, clean counter tops and messy drawers, stuffed to the brim. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, Andy. There is something I've been meaning to tell you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The illusion breaks, and his stomach flips uncomfortably. He refocuses his eyes and all he can see is the metal payphone and flat desert, all he can feel is the hot sun sinking into his back and the hollow ache of disappointment. His wrists itch–but he doesn’t look at them–doesn’t let himself scratch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” he asks, measuring his breaths and keeping his tone neutral. He counts his heart beat, presses his fingers into his neck and feels the blood pulse under the pressure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I want you to know we still love you, I still love you– we still want to adopt you, if you choose, I know they found your mother and that's great, so whatever you choose, I will always love you. But for a while we had another boy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew’s world tilts sideways, and he has to grip tighter onto the phone cord to hold on, to stop himself from floating away as he listens to her voice.  “He was… having a hard time in the group homes, and your old social worker reached out to me. He didn’t talk, so they needed someone who–” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t listen to this, he can’t, everything is so far away he can barely– “And Drakes been lonely, he says he misses you and–” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew falls. He falls down from however high away he was before and hits the earth, this moment, this reality, all at the drop of a name. “Drake’s back?” he asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Oh, yes– didn’t I tell you? He got injured, he’s been home for months, almost half a year now. He misses you and, he said it was so quiet without you around, so I accepted your social worker’s offer and–”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew hangs up. He doesn’t care if she thinks he's jealous–that she replaced him like a lost dog. Let her think that. Andrew doesn’t feel anything. He doesn’t feel anything. He doesn't feel the wall, or the phone, or the heat of the sun. Everything feels the same when you're on fire. Andrew’s not sure if the ringing in his ears is the dial tone or not, but it doesn't matter. He punches, and he punches, and he punches until he feels something– anything. And something breaks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s slammed the phone down so many times he bent the cradle hook, and the phone sways limp by his knees, the cord tethering it still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If a child cries in an empty room, and no one hears it, does it make a sound? Andrew scoffs at the thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew hears the shuffle of feet behind him, and grits his teeth. “If you don’t leave, you’re next.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he turns around, he sees the new kid standing feet away, and still it feels too close. He isn’t even looking at Andrew, instead staring out at the desert, but still Andrew cannot shake the feeling of being seen. The way he always makes Andrew feel seen. Andrew hates him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Andrew says, but he doesn’t respond, still looking away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew walks closer, “I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>hey</span>
  </em>
  <span>–” Andrew now sees that the new kid has his eyes closed and head tilted back, his face coated in sun. The small pinch between his eyebrows makes Andrew want to punch him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eavesdropping is not very polite, is it Junior” Andrew hears himself say, knowing the way the other boys avoid it. This kid is a threat, he is a threat to Andrew and Andrew needs to stop him– to keep him away– to let him know he can’t fuck with him. Andrew can feel his words shutting back off, his brain closing in. He grabs the new kids shoulder–</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And the new kid punches him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew fights back, panicked and disgusted as the feeling of skin on his skin curls into his stomach. But a fist or an elbow feels better than a gentle touch right now. They wrestle and the new kid begins to panic and begin to run away, when Andrew grabs him by his shoulders and turns to face him head on, suddenly the expression on his face clears, one of panic and fear into recognition and calm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh it’s just you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one is supposed to look relieved like that, not after seeing him. “I’m Andrew.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The new kid looks confused for a second, holding his words before he responds like always. He speaks like if conversation were a card game it would be poker instead of go fish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” he replies, hesitant and confused at Andrew’s words, like it's obvious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew feels his walls rise and his throat close up, words becoming too heavy to float out of his throat and into the air. Instead, they sink deep into his stomach. Three years after an unheard ‘please’ he didn’t speak at all, and two more before he finally got his words back, but in a new shape than ever before. He hates speaking, he hates being unheard, and he hates repeating himself to those who didn’t bother to listen the first time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But something about the new kid is different, and Andrew’s beginning to see the outline of what it is. He lets go of his coveralls and stretches out his hands. The new kid just watches him, waiting, but Andrew doesn’t have any words to speak. When Andrew lifts his hands again he watches the new kid’s face, but the new kid’s eyes never leave his own, his expression blank. Andrew cuts his movement short, changing the path of his hands to instead pushing him away. He lets his body fall into the movement, backing away with his body relaxed and loose, the opposite from how it felt under Andrew while they fought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Andrew walks away, and the new kid lets him. Andrew has a new theory about the new kid, one he goes into the quiet of his empty tent to think about, away from the others. But the silence leaves his thoughts more scattered than before, his mind flicking back to moments and conversations, and the odd feeling in his gut distracts him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW for surveillance paranoia, someone missing a toe, and mentions of Drake, panic attack and a short fistfight. </p>
<p>If you need me to add something to the list, or just wanna check out my #holes tag, I'm on tumblr @i-did</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. helping hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nathaniel tries to learn how to help someone.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW at the end</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They continue to dig for days, those six foot holes growing deeper and wider until on the fourth day they join at the seams. And Lola stays, watching over them with her pitchfork in hand and her smile thinning into a flat line over the course of the week. The big hole begins to round at the edges and expand, smoothing back out from a triangle into a circle. By the second week Lola begins to arrive later in the mornings and leave earlier in the afternoon, sleeping in and ditching once she decided the heat was too hot for her to bear. But the boys continue to dig; they’re only allowed to stop when they're told to stop, and every day they're told to stop later and later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel and Andrew remain silent, and neither mention where the piece of metal was actually found. It’s too late now, Nathaniel thinks. Whatever praise would have come from telling the truth isn't worth the price from initially holding back. Besides, whatever it is they’re looking for, Nathaniel doesn’t want Lola to have it. He doesn’t know why Andrew remains quiet though, but whatever the motivation, Nathaniel doesn’t care. He just hopes it won't break before Lola does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today, Lola arrives even later than the days before well after sunrise and onto their lunch break. She peers down, with her hands on her hips. Nathaniel watches her, waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What have you been doing down there?” Her sunglasses hide her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Seth responds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the wrong thing to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky returns from his bathroom break, and tries to slip back down into the hole with the others before she stops him, pitchfork held out in front of his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How nice of you to join us,” she says. “And what have you been doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nicky looks around sheepishly, “I– uh, had to you know… go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lola’s mouth twists, and she kicks some dirt back into the hole. It scatters into some of the boys’ eyes and food. When Nathaniel looks back up, he sees Lola pointing the pitchfork prongs onto Nicky’s chest. She pushes him down into the hole where he falls onto his back. The pitchfork leaves three little holes in both his jumpsuit and skin, but the small blots of blood are nothing compared to his wheezing from the drop– the wind knocked out of him. Nobody moves to help him, not yet, not while she's still watching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lola shouts across the valley of the hole to Plank on the other side, “You’re giving these boys too much water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as she turns to leave, the other boys crowd around Nicky, Matt reaching him first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel watches Matt speak, his eyes calm but worried. Matt holds Nicky’s head and helps him breathe, a hand on his chest mirroring Matt’s own breaths. Aaron passes over Nicky’s water when Seth snaps for it, and Matt helps him sit up, before holding it to his lips. Kevin, Andrew, and Nathaniel stay silent, away from the others and watching them help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel hasn’t forgotten about his curse and how his eyes sting from grit and the wish to turn that pain outwords. How he’s never learned how to help others or how to comfort. It’s not an instinct for him like it seems to be for them. Maybe his ability to watch and his desire to help got knocked out of him along the way. Whenever his mother got hurt he was beaten for looking, she said his eyes would lead to infection. His job was to stay away, minimize the damage and close his eyes. He’s surprised that his time at Camp Green Lake hasn’t given way to more slip-up’s with his curse. When he lived with his mother they seemed to happen more often, Nathaniel wonders if that was just due to the ever constant danger of living how they did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel picks at his scabbed knuckles, scratching away the ever constant itch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He understands Kevin’s hesitance too. He can read it in how his expression scrambles, his mind shutting down as his anxiety takes over, and he’s unable to think– to decide how to help so his brain chooses for him, choosing stillness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Andrew watches differently, his face still and calm as ever. He drinks his own water with an almost bored look on his face. But his eyes track every movement closely, watching every hand and every expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them sit there, watching until Nicky eventually sits up with an uncomfortable smile on his face. Matt tries to good-naturedly pat him on the back before Nicky winces again and Matt shrinks away, an awkward look of guilt tugging at his lip. Seth smacks Matt’s back and flips his hat off, before looking back at Nicky, trying to convey how he made it even. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel looks over and sees Aaron isn't watching Nicky and the others anymore, but instead watching the three of them– or maybe just Andrew. He narrows his eyes as if he’s trying to read the fine print written onto Andrew’s face, but when Andrew looks back, Aaron turns away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel’s not exactly an expert on how other families are supposed to act, but he doesn’t think they’re supposed to treat their twins like strangers. Nathaniel used to think that the distance was from Andrew’s silence, but while Aaron’s not as quiet as Andrew, he still rarely speaks and when he does, it’s usually to Nicky. Nicky and Aaron sit further from Andrew too, but it might be the other way around, with Andrew keeping them at arm’s length just like he does with everyone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well– almost everyone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel looks over at Andrew again, trying to see Aaron might have been looking for. When Andrew stands up and stretches, he watches Nathaniel watch him, And Nathaniel’s eyes stay locked with his and the eye contact feels heavy between them, but Nathaniel waits until Andrew decides to break it first. If Andrew looked bored before, he looks even more dead-eyed now, his gaze flattening out, expressing just how disinterested in all this digging he is. Andrew looks away, tossing Nathaniel his shovel without looking, and Nathaniel catches it. The others all turn around and start to dig as well, though Plank allows Nicky to finish catching his breath before he has to dig with the rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They no longer use the wheelbarrows and no longer work in pairs. Instead they dig in a circle side by side, Matt and Seth on Nathaniel’s left, Andrew, Kevin, Nicky, and Aaron on his right. Each boy throws his own dirt over his head until his pile of dirt is large enough on top—the deeper the hole, the harder the throw. Andrew, Aaron, and him are the shortest, and often have to duck under the older kids arms and elbows when they throw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel tries to aim his dirt covered shovel back like a racquet, throwing it hard and up. His dirt scatters, most landing above the lip of the hole, but some rains back down, earning him several glares from the others. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not picking that up,” Kevin says. “Don’t get your dirt on my dirt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel holds back from rolling his eyes, but he walks past Andrew and over to Kevin. He scrapes away ‘his dirt’ from ‘Kevin’s dirt’ best he can, throws it back over his head, and goes back to his place between Andrew and Matt. He’s digging into the side of the hole when Andrew falls flat on his back. His body is still and slumped in a way Nathaniel’s never seen it before, and it's only now that Nathaniel realizes how tense and guarded Andrew usually stands in its absence. Nathaniel thinks he must have passed out, but when his head lolls to the side, Nathaniel sees blood and a deep gash behind his ear. Nathaniel looks over and sees a pale-faced Kevin, his shovel clenched tightly in hand, guarded close to his body. There is blood on the spade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t–” Kevin starts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel looks over to Andrew, whose eyebrows are now pinched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Good, Nathaniel thinks, not fully knocked out. One of the others yell for help while Nathaniel cautiously pokes Andrew with his shovel. Andrew’s eyelids twitch before he suddenly kicks his leg out and punches wildly. His eyes open fast and sharp, his expression dark and angry before looking over to see the shovel near his calf before his gaze travels up the handle and meets Nathaniel’s eyes. Andrew glares and sits up, looking woozy. Andrew’s jaw clenches as he cautiously prods his fingers at the wound. There is blood on the shoulder of his jumpsuit, and it’s dripping down his neck. Neither Romero or Plank come down at the calls for help, instead instructing the boys to keep digging and call for Andrew to come up to them. Nathaniel kneels down and reaches out to stop Andrew from poking at the wound, when Andrew’s other hand quickly reaches out and grabs Nathaniel’s wrist. His grip is as strong as his glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t. Touch. Me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel simply nods, “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew waits–judging if he believes Nathaniel–before letting go. Nathaniel takes his arm back, rubbing his wrist gently to avoid a bruise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need help out?” Nathaniel’s not sure why he asks. He wonders if it’s because he couldn’t help with Nicky, unable to meet his wet eyes. But Andrew looks at him, looks into Nathaniel’s eyes as if it doesn’t hurt. Maybe Andrew’s immune, and maybe Nathaniel could help with this. He could learn how to help someone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” The response is immediate and sent with a glare, but still Andrew doesn’t stand up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nathaniel thinks for a minute, looking around, before deciding to get down on one knee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about this?” Nathaniel suggests, patting his thigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew nods once, his movement stiff and expression suppressing a wince. He stands up slowly–trying not to sway–before planting his feet firmly and far apart. He walks towards Nathaniel with determination, and tests his weight on Nathaniel’s thigh with one foot with his hand leaning against the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But if you start to fall, I can’t promise I’ll just let you break your neck,” Nathaniel says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew glares down at him for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Once you have your arms out of the hole, can I touch the bottom of your shoes and push you out too?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew mulls it over for a moment, before responding. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squares his shoulders and readies to jump off. Nathaniel can see the decently sized gash behind Andrew’s ear, dark red and weeping. Six feet is hard to climb out of, and even harder with a head injury. He watches Andrew’s movement to see if he’ll fall back, but Andrew makes it, his arms supporting his weight above the lip, and he begins to pull himself out. Nathaniel pushes on the bottoms of Andrew’s shoes to get him the rest of the way out. Andrew’s elbows finally reach past the entrance, allowing him to support himself there, and he swings one leg out and up, able to do the rest without Nathaniel needing to touch him. Still, once he’s out he gets up slowly, his neck slightly angled and head tilted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Less than a few minutes of digging have gone by when Andrew comes jumping back down into the hole. Instead of a bandage behind his ear, it's a piece of fabric torn from one of Romero’s sunflower seed sacks with tape sticking it to his skin. Nathaniel can see where Andrew is already starting to bleed through the fabric, but doesn’t say anything. Andrew doesn't say anything either, and the two of them go back to digging with the others. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continue to dig long after all the other groups have finished for the day. The late afternoon heat swims around them, the hole walls no longer providing its own shadow. Andrew continues to dig slowly, and takes frequent breaks. He often reaches out to rest his hand against the wall, blinking heavily before shaking his head and starting again. Nathaniel digs faster than usual, and when Andrew stops, Nathaniel digs at the edge of Andrew's hole before going back to his own section before Andrew’s eyes refocus, and he begins again. Nathaniel throws his dirt up high, every third scoop landing in Andrew’s pile instead of his own. If Andrew notices he doesn't say anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next morning Romeo marches them out to a new area, away from the big hole. He scuffs his boots and tells Group D that each boy is to dig his own hole, five feet wide and five feet deep. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW for mild to moderate head injury, mild pitchfork injury, shitty adults, and Andrew being touch repulsed.</p><p>Let me know either in the comments or message me on tumblr @i-did if you need me to add something, or if you just want to talk. I have a holes tag there too :)</p><p>Also, I see your comments and I love them and am grateful for them, sorry if I don't respond, sometimes idk what to say that doesn't sound generic or gives something away.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. spilling seeds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Seth and the boys have some fun, but it doesn't last long.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW at the end</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andrew’s neck lies stiff on the mattress, he keeps his breaths shallow, avoiding the stinging feeling of whiplash he gets every time he moves an inch. The cut behind his ear is a swollen lump the size of an egg, and it struggles to scab on its own, too deep and wide to heal without stitches. Andrew expected it to get infected after the first day; the blood clotted to the fabric of his make-shift bandage and ripped at his skin after he peeled away. But it was the second night after Kevin’s shovel hit him and no symptoms of tetanus or infection have made themselves known. He isn’t nauseous or dizzy anymore either, and unlike the first night he doesn’t have to think about the chance of falling asleep and not waking up again. Once he get’s out of here, he still has promises to keep.  </p><p>Irritated and tired, Andrew is shifting on the cot again when a strange but familiar noise stops him in his tracks. Andrew listens closely, wondering if the woman in white is back, when he begins to make out dry gasping. Suddenly, one of the boys sits up in his cot. He looks around at all the other boys who’re still sleeping, but he doesn’t notice Andrew’s attention. </p><p>Andrew can’t see who it is—the tent is too dark even for his adjusted eyes—but when he counts the beds and realizes it’s the new kid, he's not surprised. The new kid’s breaths begin to even, panic melting away into weariness. His silhouette slumps, and he pulls his knees in close, hugging them before looking around again. The new kid rocks himself slightly, and begins to whisper something to himself. Andrew strains to listen, the tent silent besides the sound of sleeping breaths and scattered snores. He’s singing maybe, Andrew decides, but he still can’t fully hear. The new kid eventually stops his rocking and stands, grabbing his shoes in one hand and water bottle in the other before slipping out of the tent soundlessly. </p><p>Andrew falls asleep before he comes back. </p><p> </p><p>Andrew is almost halfway done with his hole when the rev of a truck engine has him looking up. The water truck begins to cut its way across the horizon, beginning to make its rounds from group to group. By the time the truck is heading to Group D, Andrew checks his canteen and sees that it’s still a quarter full. He drinks the last of it slowly, savoring each sip until the truck pulls to a stop and the boys begin to fall into their places in line. The air is thick with kicked up dust and exhaust fumes from the truck, but the smell just makes Andrew think of water now.  </p><p>Romero fills the canteens, spitting out shells and not making an effort to avoid their shoes. When the truck pulls away, Andrew already back in his hole, Gordon laughs. </p><p>“Anybody want some sunflower seeds?” His smile splits across his face, a sunflower seed sack in his hand. He pops a handful into his mouth, chewing and swallowing them: shells and all. </p><p>Boyd laughs, and Gordon tosses the bag over to him. Boyd catches it easily, the weight of the half full bag swinging in his hand. </p><p>Kevin glares at the others, scared to get in trouble, but Nicky gets swept up in the excitement, calling, “Over here!”</p><p>“How’d you get them without him seeing you?” Boyd asks, tossing the bag to Nicky. </p><p>“I have a lot of brothers.” Gordon holds his fingers up and wiggles them, laughing. “You learn to take shit back without them noticing.”</p><p>Nicky passes the bag to Aaron, saying, “It’s nice to not eat something from a can for once.”</p><p>Aaron seems to agree, grabbing a handful and shoving them in his mouth quickly.</p><p>Andrew ignores them, the salt of the sunflower seeds would only make him thirstier. </p><p>“Anybody else want some?” Aaron asks.</p><p>Kevin ignores them, disapproval written on his face. </p><p>The new kid sits with his back to the others, drinking water in his hole. He’s not watching the others, and he doesn't react when Aaron shouts, “What about you, Junior?”</p><p>Aaron throws the bag high, Nicky shouting, “Airmail and special delivery…”   </p><p>The bag arches in the air, the path heading right for the new kid, but still he doesn't turn his head. Time slows as Andrew watches seeds spill before it even hits his back. Aaron didn’t roll up the top of the sack like the others and when it hits the new kids back the seeds scatter all around him. He jumps–startled from not hearing the others–and looks over to see what hit him.</p><p>Nicky swears under his breath and Aaron’s almost-smile falls awkwardly into a cringe. </p><p>“Oh damn,” says Matt, shaking his head.</p><p>The new kid looks at the seeds with confusion before looking at the others. He begins to try and sweep the sunflower seeds back into the sack, but they're already covered in dirt. </p><p>“I don't wanna eat dirt,” laughs Gordon. </p><p>Still the kid keeps sweeping, gathering the seeds that scattered everywhere around him.</p><p>Andrew hears Kevin say, “Oh shit,” and the others look over, “the truck is coming.”</p><p>Nicky’s eyes go wide and Aaron chews faster, swallowing the seeds still left in his mouth. </p><p>“Hey–lil-man. Hurry up, Romero’s coming back,” Boyd says, words stuck between a whisper and a shout. </p><p>Andrew watches as the new kid still sweeps the sunflower seeds in an unrushed pace, not reacting to the words. </p><p>“Hey, the truck,” Gordon warns, almost yelling.</p><p>Andrew was further away from the others than he was, but still the new kid didn’t give any indication of hearing them. </p><p>Kevin looks panicked, glancing between the oncoming truck and back at the new kid, “Nathaniel–<em> look </em>,” Kevin says. </p><p>The others stall at the unfamiliar name, and Andrew decides to tuck that information away for later. </p><p>Andrew finds a small rock and throws it to land on the new kid’s shoulder. He looks up at Andrew, confused, before he sees the others and his glance follows their pointing fingers. His expression quickly changes when he sees the truck, and he tries to sweep the sunflower seeds faster, before giving up and scattering dirt over them and back into his hole. </p><p>The truck pulls to a sharp stop, and Romero stomps out, slamming the door closed. His face is red with anger as he glares around at the boys. In this moment, Andrew is truly reminded just how big a man Romero is.</p><p>“Hey, Mr. Romero,” Nicky says, “Back so soon?”</p><p>“It feels like you were just here,” Gordon responds. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”</p><p>The new kid sinks down into his hole, subtly trying to hide himself from sight. </p><p>“You cocksuckers having a good time?” Romero shouts. </p><p>He walks around to each of their holes, kicking up dirt and pushing it back into their pits without care. Nobody moves and nobody says a word. </p><p>Romero makes his way over to the new kids hole, and the new kid shifts. </p><p>“Why don’t you move your foot right there, Junior?” Romero asks.</p><p>The new kid hesitates a moment too long, causing Romero to shout, “I <em> SAID </em>, WHY DON’T YOU MOVE YOUR FOOT?”</p><p>At that, he flinches and lifts his foot. </p><p>“Ah, what do you know, Junior.” Romero says, looming behind the new kid. “Looks like you found something.”</p><p>Romero grows impatient, and grabs the new kid by the collar of his jumpsuit and pulls him to his feet. He looks like a rag doll in the man's arms, limp and small.</p><p> He stands on his feet, ignoring Romero who is breathing down his neck. “Why don't you go ahead and dig it up? We’ll take it to the Warden. You know my sister–she’s very generous, maybe she’ll give you the day off.”</p><p>The new kid moved slowly, digging around but unable to actually avoid the covered sunflower seeds. </p><p>“Pick it up,” Romero says. </p><p>The new kid doesn't move.  </p><p>“I <em> SAID </em>, PICK. IT. UP.” Romero says, yelling in his ear. </p><p>This time, the new kid moves, crouching down by his feet, and when his hand comes back, he’s holding a small burlap sack. He turns around to try and hand it to Romero, but Romero doesn't take it. </p><p>“So tell me Junior–how did my sack of sunflower seeds end up over here?” Romero says.</p><p>The new kid watches him closely, pretending to debate his answer and adjust his footing as he backs away, attempting to get out of arm’s reach. “I stole them from your truck.”</p><p>“You did?”</p><p>“Yes, Sir.”</p><p>“What happened to all the sunflower seeds?”</p><p>“I ate them.”</p><p>“By yourself? All of them?”</p><p>“Yes, Sir. I dropped some too.”</p><p>Romero looks around at each one of them, glaring and trying to read something on their faces. But none of the other boys say anything. </p><p>He looks back to the new kid, “Well, we’ll just have to see what the Warden has to say about this. Let’s go.”</p><p>The new kid watches Romero speak, responding a second later, before beginning to climb out. Romero grabs him by the arm and pulls him along to the side of the truck, slamming the door shut. Unlike the other boys watching on, the new kid doesn’t look scared. His face is blank and resigned. He meets Andrew’s eyes and doesn’t look away until the truck starts up and drives back to camp. </p><p>Andrew’s interest is officially piqued, and he chooses to no longer ignore it. With one too many questions unanswered, Andrew begins to plan a new deal between him and the new kid–Nathaniel.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW for homophobic slur, and an adult man being angry/yelling<br/>And as always, let me know if you need a trigger added.</p><p>check out my AFTG side-blog @i-did for my #holes tag</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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